CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.
HANSON, MAYOR. EIGHTH SESSION.
A star (*) denotes that prisoners have been previously in custody—two stars (**) that they have been more than once in custody—a dagger (†) that they are known to be the associates of bad characters—the figures after the name in the indictment, denote the prisoner's age.
LONDON AND MIDDLESEX CASES.
OLD COURT.—Monday, May. 23rd, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. SAUNDERS. Prosecuted.
FREDERICK JAMES . I live at Chepstow Place, Bayswater—on the night of 29th April I went to bed about 20 minutes past 11, and about 20 minutes past 2 I was aroused by a noise in the drawing-room on the first floor—I partly dressed myself and went on to the landing, and heard footsteps—the drawing-room door had been locked when I went to bed—I went to my dressing-room window and sprang a rattle, and I then saw a man, dressed in a fireman's uniform, get out of the drawing-room, and go along the balcony and disappear—so far as I can say the prisoner is the man—I was about 12 yards from him—I went out of the house and saw him walking towards the house—I stopped him and slid "Why have you been in my house?"—he said "I have not"—I said "I shall charge you with it," and fetched a policeman—the prisoner went into the fireman's box at the corner of Chepstow Place, that is about 50 yards from my house—he was still in his box when I came back—I missed nothing—the prisoner was the worse for liquor; he answered my questions—he was walking along the road rather straddling.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. You had your senses about you; you seemed to know what I said to you.
ERNEST HILL . I was staying with the last witness at Chepstow Place on 29th April—I heard a noise, and looked out of the window and saw the prisoner, dressed in a fireman's uniform, get out of the drawing-room window—when I got out of the house I saw him in the roadway—I considered him drunk when I spoke to him.
FREDERICK GREEN . (Policeman E. 192). The prisoner was given into my custody by the prosecutor; he was in his fireman's box at Chepstow Place—he didn't appear to be drunk then—I examined the house, and found that one of the windows was closed, but not fastened—I told the prisoner I should take him in custody for entering this house—he said he didn't know of any house, but afterwards said he had heard a noise and went to see what it was—he said nothing when he was charged.
DAVID HOBBS . I am an engineer, employed by the Metropolitan Fire Brigade at the station at Ladbroke Road—when the prisoner was taken in custody I was fetched to the fire escape station; he was then under the influence of drink—I had visited him previous to that at 10.26; he was then perfectly sober.
Cross-examined. You have been in the brigade 10 months; your character was very satisfactory.
The Prisoner in his defence stated that he had had some drink with a friend and got in this house by a mistake.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. JONES LEWIS. Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
600. FOREST SUTHERLAND. (34) PLEADED GUILTY . to forging and uttering cheques for the payment of 54l. 10s., 15l., 35l., a receipt for 5l., and also to unlawfully obtaining from John Richard Watson an order for the payment of 15l., with intent to defraud.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
NEW COURT.—Monday, May. 23rd,. 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
603. HENRY SANDELL KEAVEN (24) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] to stealing, whilst employed in the Post Office, 6l., 13l., and 13l. 2s. 6d., the money a of H.M. Postmaster General.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
604. And HENRI ZIMMERMAN. (61) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] to forging and uttering a Post Office order for payment of 1l. 1s. Also an order for the payment of 18s. 2d. Also an order for the payment of 18s., with intent to defraud.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
OLD COURT.—Tuesday, May. 24, 1887.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. ST. AUBYN. for the Prosecution offered no evidence.
NOT GUILTY .
GUILTY .— Penal Servitude for Life.
NEW COURT.—Tuesday, May. 24, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
(For the case of Ralph Hodgson, tried this day, see Kent cases.)
THIRD COURT.—Tuesday, May. 24, 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WILKINSON. and. MR. BIRON. Prosecuted.
ROSINA DAVIS . I am the wife of Charles Davis, of 13, Caledonian Street, Islington—the prisoner came to lodge with us on 29th April, on first floor back, at 2s. 9d. a week—she paid 6d. deposit, which left 2s. 3d. to be paid at the end of the week—about 12.30 on 8th May I let her in, she said, "I have been taken ill in the street with a fit, and I have lost my bag and my keys and my week's money; I must get in the room because I have a half-sovereign on the mantel shelf"—I had another key and opened the door and let her in, and she went straight to the mantel shelf and brought a coin and gave it to me, saying, "Here is a half-sovereign; you can take my rent out of it"—that would be 2s. 3d.—I said, "I have not got change now"—she said, "Never mind about the change"—I went down with it in my hand and thought it felt rather thin, and I laid it on the mantel shelf, and in the morning my husband said something to me—I looked at the coin and it did not seem like a half-sovereign—at the time I received it I did not notice it—my husband went for a constable.
CHARLES DAVIS . I am an insurance agent, of 13, Caledonian Street, Islington—on the morning of 8th May my wife showed me this coin and put it on the shelf—later on, at eight o'clock, I looked at it, and weighed it with a half-sovereign, which was about as heavy again—I informed the police, and Sergeant Diddums came and went up to the prisoner's room, and brought her down into my parlour—I said to her, "You know it is a bad half-sovereign"—she made no answer—I gave it to Diddums.
this coin, and asked her if she could account for her possession of it—she said, "I have been working at Patton's, Ludgate Hill, and they must have paid it me in my wages; I had a half-sovereign and 5s. "—I lifted a vase up in the room, and the prisoner came and picked up this other coin from under the vase—she said, "Here is another one, I was going to have a pair of earrings made of them"—Mr. Davis gave me this half-sovereign—going downstairs the prisoner said, "I have told you a lie, I did not get that from Patton's; I don't know what made me do it"—I took her to the station—these coins were bright when I received them—they have since been tested and are now discoloured—I told the prisoner I was from King's Cross Police-station.
WILLIAM JOHN WEBSTER . These two coins are brass whist markers; they are similar in size and colour to a half-sovereign, but there is the Queen's head on one side and the Austrian eagle on the other—it is milled and knerled—the legend is totally different—the value of this is perhaps a farthing—they cost so much a gross.
GUILTY. on the Second Count.— Four Months' Hard Labour.
609. WILLIAM KALLEY. (32) PLEADED GUILTY . to burglary in the dwelling-house of Alexander McAlister, and stealing a silver salver and other articles, after a conviction in June, 1882, in the name of Thomas Ray .— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
FOURTH COURT.—Tuesday. 24th May. 1887.
611. JOHN TAYLOR. (31) [Pleaded guilty; see original trial image] to two indictments for burglary in the dwelling-houses of Thomas Richard Clarke and Henry Howard, and stealing two clocks, a blanket, and other goods.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BURNIE. Prosecuted.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the Jury on account of his youth.—Judgment respited.
MR. BURNIE. Prosecuted.
THOMAS FAULCHER . (City. 950.) About one a.m. on 23rd April I saw the prisoners with Elizabeth Wiltshire in Liverpool Street, outside the Railway Station—I watched them about half-an-hour—I saw them leave Wiltshire and go to her again—Harper said, "I don't believe it is any bleeding good"—I caught hold of her; she went a little way up Bishopsgate
Street and refused to go further—other constables came up—from what they said I took hold of the prisoners—a uniform man came up and said, "Look out, there is something on the ground," and this brooch was picked up—at the station High said the woman had taken the prosecutor's purse from her pocket—the prosecutor said she had lost 6s. 8d. and identified the brooch as her property—I found 6d. on High and 9d. on Harper.
FREDERICK PEARCE . (City. 969.) I saw the prisoners leave Wiltshire—Foulcher and I went after them—when he caught hold of them I heard this brooch fall and picked it up—in the cell I heard High tell Foulcher the woman had taken the brooch, the money he knew nothing about—the prisoners were sober.
ELIZABETH WILTSHIRE . I am a widow, of Claremont Villas, Holloway Road, Leytonstone—this is my silver brooch—I was waiting outside Liverpool Street Station when the prisoners asked me what I was waiting there for—I told them I was very ill and had missed my train, and I should like to know if I could get a respectable place to go to for the night, as I did not feel able to go home—they wanted me to go home with them—I felt the man come near to me and missed my purse—I accused him of taking it—he asked me what I meant by it—they went away—there was a man going past—he was a detective, but I did not know it—I missed my brooch—it was picked up, and I identified it at the station.
Cross-examined by High. I do not think it was so late as 1.5, I had missed the 12.20 train—I did not say, "Would you be kind enough to, assist me to get a lodging?" not that I had only a penny—you did not say that you would give me 6d. to pay for my lodging as you had money for to-morrow; nor that you could not take me to your place, where you had a wife and three children—I found my purse in my pocket and a 1d. in it.
Cross-examined by Harper. You spoke to me before I spoke to you—you were talking to the man before you spoke to me—you were with him when you came up.
The prisoners' statements before the Magistrates. High says. "I have nothing to say." Harper says, "I never had that woman's brooch; I was going to take her home for shelter."
NOT GUILTY .
MR. GILL. Prosecuted.
LUCY DUMERGUE . I am a widow, of 3, Norland Square, Notting Hill—Louisa Painter, a sister-in-law of the prisoner, was in my employment many years—I lodged at the prisoner's house for some time at Cornwall Road—after I left some legal proceedings were tried in the Marylebone County Court between me as plaintiff and the prisoner as defendant—the action was decided in my favour—I have received a number of post cards from the prisoner—about the 28th or 29th March I received this post card (produced.)—I have often seen the prisoner's writing—I believe this post-card to be his writing—in consequence of this annoyance going on I consulted my solicitor—(Read: Address: "Mrs. Dumergue, 3, Norland Square, London, West." "Thief—thou shalt not steal. Steal no more.
Be true and just in all thy dealings Pay for your lodgings. Your victim."
Cross-examined by the prisoner. I came to lodge at your house on 1st February, paying 2l. a week for four rooms and 30s. a week board, payable every four weeks by your wife's desire—it is not correct that I did not pay one month till a second was due—you claimed 16l. 12s. 6d.—I offered you 6l. 12s., which was due, and you would not take it—I am not an expert in writing, but I have the use of my eyes—I do not know whether this document is your writing—this letter is like your writing—I have seen several of your letters—(Letters and receipts produced.—I read these letters and receipts from you.
LOUISA PAINTER . I shall have been 27 years in Mrs. Dumergue's employment next Sunday—the prisoner is my brother-in-law—I know his writing—this postcard is his writing—all these other postcards are his writing—one is to myself.
Cross-examined. I think this large document is your writing, it is not so good as it usually is—the smaller one I do not think is—it is not such a neat hand—you write a neat hand—I have often seen you write—you recovered 20l. for me, which I lent my brother—I am the maid—Mrs. Dumergue engaged the rooms weekly—she did not leave in your debt; you would not take the money when offered you.
DANIEL MORGAN . (Inpsector X.) I received the prisoner into custody on this charge on 21st April—I handed him the warrant charging him with publishing the libel—he said, "I thought it referred to another post-card"—he afterwards handed me a paper and account and said, "This is an account that I have written, showing that she owes me money"—I brought him to London.
Cross-examined. You did not say you thought it referred to a post card you wrote from Boulogne.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate. "I thought that post card referred to a post card I sent her from Boulogne in October. I gave Mr. Davis a book containing my charges, and he has kept it since."
In defence the prisoner said the postcard was not his writing; he also contended that it was not a libel, as it was a fair translation of the eighth Commandment. He had been annoyed and ultimately ruined by widows and maidens interfering with him and scandalising him. But he had. 40 years' character, and had held public appointments at the City of London and other schools, had educated the sons of many public men, including the present Recorder; that he was a great sufferer from chronic gout, and he hoped the Jury would not convict him on a charge brought by an old woman in her dotage, but acquit him, so that he could go down into the Shires and celebrate Her Majesty's Jubilee.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy.— Two Months' Imprisonment, and to enter into recognizances of. 50l. to keep the peace for. 12months.
Mr. PARTRIDGE. Prosecuted.
MARTHA GADD . I am a widow—I live at 14, Doveton Street, Mile End—on Wednesday, 13th April, I returned from selling some eggs about 3 p.m.—the prisoner is my son—when I first went in he was sitting by the fire—I was trying to get his tea ready—I said "Have you eat that bacon?"—he said "No"—when I turned he took up the chair I was sitting on and dashed it on the ground and ran to the cup-board—I
went to call the little girl with the errand, and as I stood at the door he fetched a chopper and struck me one blow—the blood ran down my face—I cannot tell you how I felt—I staggered against the table—I screamed out—I was taken to the London Hospital, and was there five weeks—I never had a word with him that day, but he has been in the infirmary three weeks; he never carried. on as he has done since he came out a month and three days, and he struck me on the elbow.
The Prisoner. I was going to strike her with the hammer, but she got the hammer away from me—that woman ought not to be up there; she has been told what to say; she wanted to poison me years ago.
The Witness. He gave me drops out of a bottle till I could not do my work after Easter—he is not right in his mind—he has got dust in the yard, wetted it, and covered my windows with it—he would do something bad if he could—he has been in this state five years next July since he went to Chingford—I took him to the London Hospital; they said it would be a long case—a gentleman of Euston Square took him to Shoreditch Church—he went to buy drops for his eyes, but he poured it all out when he came home. (The prisoner's eyes were bandaged.) I have got nothing but punches for my pains; his conduct has been dreadful—I dare not stop in the place to do my work—he was in the Bethnal Green Infirmary, and he was discharged a month and three days before he struck me—he had water on the brain; he has been worse since he came out of the infirmary—he does no work; I have had to keep him—if he could not get tobacco he would punch me.
GEORGE SMITH . (Police Inspector.) On the afternoon of the 13th April the prisoner came to the Bethnal Green Police-station—he said "Mother has fallen down on her head, and they say I have done it"—afterwards I made inquiry—the little girl came to the station—when she had given her statement, and I had told him what the girl had said, he said "She fell down on the fender," and, alluding to the chopper, "I had never used it: there was no one in the room."
GUILTY. of the act, but not being in his right mind.— Ordered to be detained until Her Majesty's pleasure be known.
OLD COURT.—Wednesday, May. 25th, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. GILL. Prosecuted.
GUILTY .— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. COLE. Prosecuted. MR. MUIR. Defended.
ANDREW BOWRING . I am an outfitter, of 12, Fenchurch Street—on 5th May, about 11.30 a.m., I was at the corner of Fenchurch Street and Gracechurch Street, and wearing a chronometer watch, value about 40 gs., attached to a gold chain, which went through my waistcoat buttonhole and into my waistcoat pocket—I was just turning from Gracechurch Street into Fenchurch Street—I had a bag in one hand and an umbrella in the other—some men hustled me, and two men stood in front and one on each side of me, and I saw the prisoner, who was in front, take my watch and twist or cut it off, I cannot say which; it was all done in a moment—I grasped him by the arm, and he passed the watch to his other hand, and then to the man at his side—I made a grab at him, and the prisoner slipped away—I called out instantly "I have lost my watch," and within a quarter of a minute the prisoner was brought back by a policeman—a gentleman came forward, and said "Here is your watch," and said he had picked it up on the kerb—the prisoner was taken to the station and charged—he said "You caught hold of another man first"—I am perfectly sure he is the man who took my watch.
Cross-examined. That is rather a busy corner at that time—I should not like to swear the prisoner is the man, but I have no doubt in my mind—I saw him with the watch in his hand.
Re-examined. I am sure he was one of the two in front of me, and I believe he was the one who took my watch.
WILLIAM CLARK . I am a commission agent, of 135, Richmond Road, Hackney—on Thursday, 5th May, about 11.30 a.m., I was going round this corner about half a yard behind the prosecutor, and felt a commotion in the crowd—I looked round to see what it was; it was directly in front of me—I saw the prosecutor with four men round him; one was behind, one on each side, and the prisoner was in front—they hustled him, and I saw the prisoner make a direct grab at the prosecutor's waistcoat—the prosecutor seized him, and he doubled over his arm over the gutter where the watch was found—he ran two or three yards, and was seized by a policeman at the corner—he was not out of my sight at all—when he was brought back I said to the policeman "That is the man"—I never saw the watch.
Cross-examined. The prosecutor was between me and the prisoner.
THOMAS WILLIAM FIELD . (City Policeman. 736). On 5th May, about 11.30, I was about 20 yards from the end of Fenchurch Street, near Gracechurch Street, and saw a scuffle—before I could get there the prisoner slipped away from the prosecutor, and was standing by the lamp-post, and the last witness said "That is the man who has got the watch"—I went and caught hold of the prisoner—he said "Blind me, governor, it wasn't me," and tried to slip away from me—I brought him back to the prosecutor, who said "That is the man"—I took him to the station, where he was charged, and he asked the prosecutor why he caught hold of the other man.
Cross-examined. There was not an unusual crowd there.
ALLEN. PLEADED GUILTY .
MR. MUIR. Prosecuted.
EMILY TURNER . I live in the front parlour of 51, Richard's Street, Camberwell Road—on the night of 15th April I came home about 12 o'clock, and found my room turned all over, and in a very confused state—the window was wide open—I had left it shut at 8.30 a.m. when I went out to work—I missed all my bedclothes and everything of wearing apparel I had in the room—I missed two sheets and a blanket and other articles—I have not seen them since—I did not see anybody there.
RACHAEL WOOLF . On 15th April, about 11 p.m., I was near Mrs. Turner's house, and saw Stone, who I knew by sight, walking up and down outside the premises—she called me Lizzie. and said "Your mother is up at the Clive public-house, Camberwell Road, and Mrs. Turner and her sister Grace, as drunk as they can be"—I went there, and they were not there—I came back and saw Stone take a bundle out of Allen's hand, and help him out of the window—she then halloed "Run, Punch. here comes a young woman that lives in the house"; that was me—Allen ran to the top of the street without any boots or stockings, and Stone ran through the court with the bundle, and I lost sight of her—on the Monday evening I saw her at the corner of the Grove, and pointed her out to a police sergeant, who arrested her.
Cross-examined by Stone. When I went up to the Clive you did not go down the street, you remained at the same place—you did not say "Have you seen my sister and Mrs. Turner together."
ANNIE BRISON . I was next door to Mrs. Turner's house on 15th April and saw Stone lift Allen out of the window—he said, "Here they are, out of the way," and she said, "Punch, run as hard as you can"—Punch. ran up the street and turned the corner, and she ran in the court on the opposite side to where she was standing—I never saw any bundle with her, it was in the dark—she was standing at the door on the other side of the way, and she came over and opened the window and lifted him in, it was not too dark to see that; the shop opposite was shut up—I have seen her before, but not to speak to her—I afterwards saw her at Arbour Square Police-station, but I did not pick her out.
JOSEPH MARRIOTT . (Police Sergeant H.) Woolf pointed out Stone to me—I told her I should take her for being concerned with another in breaking into 53, Richard's Street—she said "I was not there at the time"—I said "There are two witnesses who saw you carry a bundle away"—she said "Well, I did go down there to see my sister"—when charged she stated that the landlord of the Mallard Arms could prove she was at his house at the time the burglary was committed—he came to the police-court, but she did not call him; the potman is here.
Cross-examined. You did not say you was round there at 10.30, and at 11 you were in the Mallard Arms.
Stone in her defence stated that she and her sister had occupied a room in the house next door to Mrs. Turner for three years, and that on this night she was waiting for her sister, and finding she did not come she went round to the public-house, and came out again and went home and saw the window open.
STONE. GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour. ALLEN. Four Months' Hard Labour.
MR. POLAND. and. MR. GILL. Prosecuted.
FREDERICK RUDGE . (Police Sergeant C.) On 16th February at 5.30 a.m. I was with Sergeant Drew in Courtfield Road, Kensington, and saw the prisoner and two men named Coaffee and McCarthy, who are now undergoing a term of penal servitude (seepage. 13); they left the doorway of No. 4, Ashbourne Place, and crossed to 13, Asbourne Place and remained there a few minutes—we passed by them and watched them—they left No. 13 and came along Ashbourne Place to the top of Courtfield Gardens, where we stopped them—Drew stopped McCarthy, who was carrying a black bag, and asked what they were doing; he said they were going to work; he asked them what the black, bag contained; McCarthy said "Paint and colours"—Drew then took McCarthy in custody; he then spoke to me and I arrested the prisoner—Coaffee said "Have a go for it," and he commenced to struggle violently, and eventually got away—I chased them 15 or 20 yards and caught the prisoner again; Coaffee then turned round, drew something from his coat-pocket and stabbed me in the cheek, and then they both escaped—I next saw the prisoner at Kensington Police-station on 30th April, and picked him out from eight others—when charged he said "I took no part in assaulting him, I don't deny being there"—I was attended by a doctor.
Cross-examined by Prisoner. You were with Coaffee when he stabbed me.
There being no proof that the prisoner knew that the other men had weapons, the.
RECORDER. directed a verdict of. NOT GUILTY . The prisoner then
NEW COURT.—Wednesday, May. 25th, 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
623. FREDERICK BREMNER. (29) PLEADED GUILTY . to stealing a brooch, a pencil case, and other articles, and 29s. in money, the property of Elizabeth Sargenson, having been convicted at Guildhall in November, 1886, of stealing a watch and chain.— Twelve Month' Hard Labour. And
624. WILLIAM VINER. (60) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] to a libel on Samuel Butler Mason.— To pay. 10l. towards the cost of the prosecution, or to be imprisoned in default , and to enter into. 50l. recognisances to be of good behaviour for twelve months.
MR. WILKINSON. Prosecuted.
JOHN ROBERT COGGER . I am 13, and live at 7, Avenue Road, New Southgate, with my parents—on May 2nd I was in Belstile Road, about 4 o'clock, with Phipps, when I met the prisoner, who told me to go and fetch him two eggs, and he said he would give me something—he gave
me a half-crown from his right trousers pocket, to pay for the eggs—he did not say where I was to go—I went to Bradbury's shop and asked Masters for the eggs, and gave him the half-crown—he gave it back to me and told me to take it home—I then went to Heathcot's shop with the half-crown; I asked him for two eggs and gave him the half-crown—he said something to me and came out of the shop with me—I did not see the prisoner then—I had left him about 100 yards from Heathcot's—I met a constable, and went with him and Heathcot and found the prisoner in the Beehive public-house—I told the constable he was the man—this is the coin (produced.)
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I came back to the place where I left you; you were not there—Heathcot did not tell me it was bad.
HERBERT FRANCIS PHIPPS . I live at Holmesdale Road, New Southgate—on 2nd May I was with Cogger in Belstile Road—I saw the prisoner speak to Cogger, who then went to Bradbury's—I stood by the prisoner's side during the time Cogger was away, which was about ten minutes—Cogger came out of Bradbury's and went to Mr. Heathcot's, and came out with some one—as soon as the prisoner saw them come out of the shop he went away—he could see what happened at Heathcot's door as well as I—I next saw him, when I was standing outside Heathcot's shop, coming down another road, and he came up Belstile Road again—I afterwards watched Cogger and Heathcot; I met Constable Hall—I followed the prisoner to the Beehive and pointed him out.
Cross-examined. When you came up Belstile Road again, the boy had gone to look for a policeman.
ARTHUR HENRY MASTERS . I am employed at Mr. Bradbury's shop at New Southgate—on 2nd May Cogger came in for two 1d. eggs, and gave me a half-crown—I thought it was bad; handed it to Mr. Bradbury, who bent it between his teeth in my presence, and then gave it to me and told me to give it to him back—I gave it to the boy—this is it.
HENRY JOHN HEATHCOT . I am a grocer, of 4, St. Paul's Terrace, New Southgate—on 2nd May Cogger came in about 4 o'clock, and asked for two 1d. eggs, and offered we a half-crown—I found it was bad, it was greasy; I had a conversation with Cogger and came out of the shop with him—I saw Phipps was outside the door—I went in search of the prisoner with Phipps and Cogger, and followed him to the Beehive—I met Hall and spoke to him, and afterwards pointed out the prisoner to him in the Beehive—Cogger came up and said to Hall "That is the man"—I gave the coin to the Constable, and it was marked—this is it—the prisoner was taken in custody.
Cross-examined. I did not come with the boy to where he had left you.
WILLIAM HALL . (Policeman. 289 Y.) On 2nd May I was on duty at New Southgate, and in Palmer's Green Road, about 4.15 p.m., Mr. Heathcot drew my attention to the prisoner, who was going into the Beehive; I followed him in, and charged him with uttering bad money—he said "It is a mistake, you have got the wrong man"—Cogger said "He is the man"—the prisoner hearing that said "It is a mistake, you have got the wrong man"—I searched him, and found on him a sovereign, two florins, eight shillings, 6d. and 3d. and 2 1/2 d., all good, in different pockets—I took him to the police-station, where he was charged, and said "It is a mistake, and you have got the wrong man," and he gave his
address 46, Newington Green Road—that is correct—Mr. Heathcot gave me this half-crown—I searched the prisoner's lodgings, but found no bad money there; he had money in his trousers and waistcoat pockets.
GEORGE JORDAN . (Police Inspector.) I was at Southgate police-station on 3rd May in the morning, and the prisoner, who was there in custody, told me he wished to see the Inspector on duty; in consequence of that I went to him—he asked to be allowed to make a statement—I told him whatever he said would be taken down in writing, and might be used in evidence against him—he then made this statement, I took it down at the time, and he signed it—this is it: "I, William Williams, wish to make a statement to the following effect—on 20th April, 1887, I went to Epsom to see the City and Suburban run for, and backed Merry Duchess to win me 2l., 4 to 1 chance, which I won. After the absence of two or three days I discovered I had a counterfeit half-crown. Some time ago I went into a shop to change it at Highbury; I was told it was bad, I kept it for several days, till I got to Southgate, when I gave it to a boy to change, knowing it was bad"—I read it to him and asked him if he wished to correct or withdraw anything, and he signed it.
Cross-examined. You said at Edmonton Police-court that you meant unknowingly, instead of knowingly.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate said that he gave that coin to the boy unintentionally, and that he had kept it became he hardly thought it was bad, as it looked so well: and in his defence he said that he asked the boy to buy the eggs because he was a stranger and did not know a shop, and that he gave the boy the half-crown by mistake.
GUILTY.— Judgment respited.
MR. PAYNE. Prosecuted.
WILLIAM MELLON . I am a billiard-room proprietor at King's Cross—on Saturday, 14th May, I was in Little Queen Street about five minutes before 12, going to catch a 'bus. for King's Cross, when three men rushed against me at the corner, and Harvey tore my chain and seal away in a violent manner, so that it broke off, leaving my watch in my pocket, and Morris knocked me down—I called out "Police!" and the prisoners were caught a few minutes afterwards and brought back and identified, and charged at the station—my chain was worth only a few shillings, the seal was worth 32s. or 33s.
Cross-examined by Morris. I had not been drinking—you stopped me at the corner of Queen Street—I accused Harvey at the station of robbing me of my chain—Harvey admitted at the station that he had taken the chain and the seal, and that his friend was innocent, and that I had charged the wrong man—I charged him on Monday morning at the police-court.
Cross-examined by Harvey. I was quite sober—I was knocked down—three men met me, but you got hold of my chain and snatched it and tore all the buttons off my waistcoat—I am quite sure of you—you were taken by the police directly, and when they brought you back I said you were the man—you admitted at the station having taken the chain, and said Morris was innocent.
By the. COURT. I was not much hurt, only by the fall—I was dusty.
ALFRED WILLIAMS . (Policeman E. 383). I was in Parker Street, and saw Morris running up towards Drury Lane from Little Queen Street—I heard cries of "Stop thief!"—he knocked a lady down as he ran—I took him and brought him back to the corner of Little Queen Street, where the prosecutor identified him—I asked him what he was running away for, he said because some one had hit him on the head.
Cross-examined by Morris. You walked back quietly with me to the corner of Queen Street.
WALTER YOUNG . (Policeman E. 201). I was in Parker Street on this night, and about five minutes to 12 o'clock I heard cries of stop thief and police, and saw three men running towards me, two of whom are the prisoners—I attempted to stop Morris, he got away—knowing Williams was farther down the street I called for him to stop him—I turned round and saw the other two men turn back when they saw me waiting for them—I gave chase and caught Harvey in Parker Street, running from Little Queen Street into Drury Lane—the prosecutor said Harvey was one of the men and he would give him in custody for robbing him—I took Harvey to the station; he struggled in Great Queen Street to get away and said he would have a go for it—in the dock at the station, while they were being charged, Harvey said he was guilty but the other man was not.
Cross-examined by Harvey. I was 30 yards down the street; you came 20 yards and went back again—You were about five yards from the top when I caught you—you did not come out of a watering-place when I came up.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "The prosecutor was not hurt in the least."
Witness for Harvey's Defence.
MAUD COOPER . My husband is a labourer, of 21, Drury Lane—I was drinking with you and Morris and two young women on Saturday night in Wilson's public-house in Parker Street—I wished you good night after 12 o'clock, I could not say the time, at the corner of Parker Street, and saw no more of you—I was with you at 10 minutes past 12—you went into a watering-place at the corner after 12 o'clock, and when you came out we wished you good night and you left.
Cross-examined. We had been drinking together all day in that and other public-houses—we left the house when it closed at 12 o'clock—we all left together but we did not separate for twenty minutes or a quarter of an hour.—I saw Harvey go into a watering-place, and waited for him and walked with him after that, and then we separated at the corner of Parker Street—I know nothing about the robbery—I suppose it was about 60 yards off where we were.
ALFRED WILLIAMS . (Re-examined.) I was in Parker Street at 11, 55, when I saw Morris running from Little Queen Street, and it was about 12 o'clock when I took him—the prisoners were taken to the station six yards apart, and I saw Harvey at the station at 12.10—the police-station is five minutes walk off.
Morris in his defence said that he knew nothing of the robbery, but owned he
ran away. Harvey said that when he admitted having done something at the station he did not know what the charge was.
CHARLES STACEY. I am a horse-keeper, of 7, Fakehham Street, Islington—on 7th March between 9 and 9.15 I was in Market Street—I had just taken my money and been to a tailor's and got a new waistcoat, for which I gave 18s. 6d., and I had about 18s. in my coat pocket—I went through a narrow avenue to the slaughter-houses—the three prisoners met me, and Hall said "Have you seen anybody running up here with a parcel?"—I said "No"—he immediately worked round me and made a snatch at my parcel, which was under my arm, and Wickenden struck me on my mouth—I reeled and went down as the others were pulling at the parcel under my arm, and Hall and Coleman came behind me and gave me a kick in my back and I was disabled, and as soon as I recovered myself I got up and went to a public-house, but saw nothing of them till the next day—I gave information to the police; they were arrested, and I picked them each out from six or seven persons.
Cross-examined by Hall. I am positive it was you; you wore the same clothes as now, and you pulled the parcel from under my right arm—you made a plunge at my parcel before Wickenden struck me, and after that you went on struggling for the parcel.
Cross-examined by Wickenden. I did not look at your clothes but at your features, and I had time while you were questioning me to take stock of you all three—there are five lamps in the avenue, but this was a lonely place—a woman came up and said "You have got one right man and two wrong ones"—I said "I was told Wickenden was concerned in it."
Cross-examined by Coleman. I was not in a public-house drinking on the Saturday, and I did not say to you "Hold this waistcoat"—you and I did not go into the middle of the room and start fighting—I was not drunk—I feel the kick in my back now.
ROBERT BYE . I live at 216, York Road, Islington, and know Coleman by sight only—about 10.30, on 10th May, he came up to me and said "Will you buy a waistcoat?" I said "Yes," and gave him a crown for it.
JOHN DEDMOTE. (Policeman Y. 210). On 10th May I received a description of Wickenden and Coleman, and took Wickenden the same evening in Caledonian Road—I told him the charge; he said "I know nothing about it"—I took Coleman the next day at 3 p.m., and told him the charge; he said that he knew nothing at all about it—they were placed with other men at the station separately, and the prosecutor identified them—I have seen the three prisoners in company.
CHARLES STANFORD . (Policeman Y. 118). On 10th May I took Hall in York Road, about 10.45 a.m. and said that it was for robbing a man of a parcel on May 7th—he said "You have made a mistake, I know nothing about it"—he was placed with six more at the station, and Stacey at once identified him.
Cross-examined by Hall. I did not place you with six others who
Stacey had seen in the passage; the charge-room door was closed and the, six men were in another room; I did not take them into the passage first, nor had Stacey the opportunity of seeing them first.
Witnesses for Wickenden.
MARGARET SIMMONDS . My husband is a clerk—we lived at 17, Frederick Street, Caledonian Road, when this occurred—we now live at No. 16—on May 7 Wickenden came to our house about 4.30—I asked him upstairs into my room—he was the worse for drink, and I advised him to lie down, which he did, and while he was lying down a quarrel arose between a lodger and her husband, who was kicking her—I asked Wickenden to go down, and then she did so, and I asked them to come up into my room, which they did, the prisoner and the husband and wife, and they stayed there till half-past nine, when they went to the Montague Arms, Ben well Road, and stayed there till 11.30, when the prisoner and I came out and went to the Prince of Wales, St. James' Road, and stayed there till 12 o'clock—I was with the prisoner from 4.30 till 12 o'clock; he never left my company.
Cross-examined. I am Wickenden's cousin—I have only been charged twice in my life with being drunk—I was not drunk on this evening.
By the. COURT. The two lodgers left at 10.30—they are here—I was there all the time he was lying there drunk—I was cleaning my room but not for five hours, from 4.30 till 9.80—I went in and out to get a few things in—I was out about an hour—I went to my mother between six and seven, and he laid there till I came back—I only went out once, and I know the time because I noticed my clock, which was 9.30 when I left the house.
SARAH ANN TALBOT . My husband is a farrier, of 7, Birkbeck Lane—on May 2nd Wickenden came down from his cousin's room, knocked at our door, and a quarrel arose between him and my husband, and my husband and I went up into his cousin's room, and remained there till 9.30, when we went to the Montague Arms and remained there till 10.30, when me and my husband went home—I do not know where Wickenden went afterwards, but from 4.30 to 9.30 he was at the house and never left it.
By the. COURT. I can say that because he went up at seven and laid on the bed asleep—I was not in the room, but I believe he was still there because he never went out.
Cross-examined. I am living with my husband and always have been—we were parted three years ago, but I have never lived with Wickenden—he is no relation of mine.
Coleman's Defence. On 7th May the prosecutor asked me to go and have a glass of ale with him at the Lamb. He quarrelled with a horse keeper there, and they went outside and had a fight, and the prosecutor asked me to hold his bundle with a waistcoat in it; he ran after the other man, and left me with the bundle. I stopped there as much as half-an-hour, and he did not come back, and I kept the bundle and sold it. As to kicking and assaulting him it is the biggest lie out, he was as drunk as could be, and these two prisoners were not there at all.
Hall and Coleman then. PLEADED GUILTY. to previous convictions at Clerkenwell, Hall in September. 1885, and Coleman** in December. 1884.
HALL. and. COLEMAN.— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour. WICKENDEN— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. DILL. Prosecuted.
NOT GUILTY .
OLD COURT.—Thursday, May. 26th, 1887.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MESSRS POLAND. and. MEAD. Prosecuted. MESSRS. FULTON. and. MARSHALL HALL. Defended.
JAMES HENRY BARKER . (Police Sergeant.) On 30th March I was a constable of the S division—during the night of 29th March I was on duty in Woodside, Grange Road, outside Dr. Turle's premises, Woodside Grange, which is a large house with extensive grounds—there is a lodge and gate in Woodside, Grange Road, and a drive which passes in front of the house and leads to Woodside Lane, where there is another gate—about 12.30 a.m. I noticed a light on the south side of the house, nearest the road, as of someone lighting a pipe, it appeared to be at the house; I watched and saw a second light of a similar kind—I then entered the lodge-gate and placed my back against the pillar and watched the spot where I saw the lights, and then saw a third light, which lasted half-a-minute—I crossed the lawn, keeping on the grass; when within 20 yards of the house my leg got entangled in something which threw me down; I sprang to my feet and heard two men running from the place where I had seen the lights; they ran from me in the direction of Woodside Lane—I blew my whistle and followed along the drive, and on getting into Woodside Lane I saw two men, dimly, making their way towards the railway bridge to my left; they were about 35 or 40 yards from me—I threw off my cape and continued the chase—I had a stick but it slipped out of my hand when I was undoing my cape and I did not stop to pick it up—when three or four yards from the bridge they parted from each other, and the nearest one faced me; I closed with him and we both fell, he being undermost—I endeavoured to draw my truncheon, which had worked to the middle of my back in running, and whilst doing so the one in front turned round and dealt me two blows—I saw that man while drawing my truncheon; I saw his back before he struck me, and then I saw him turn round—one blow struck my helmet and knocked it off, and another struck my forehead—I cannot say with what I was struck; it was some heavy instrument, I did not see it at all—the blow on my forehead cut and bruised it, and caused blood to flow—at the same moment I was turned on my back and they both escaped—I saw the one I had struggled with getting over the rails near the parapet of the bridge; he had no hat on; I did not see what became of him—I was without my helmet—I recovered my feet, drew my truncheon, and followed him down the railway line as I could hear him there; I think he must have stumbled on the rails as I could hear him distinctly; I again overtook him; I am quite sure he was the same man; he turned round and faced me, and said "You b—, I will kill you this time"; I struck him a heavy blow on his head with my truncheon, which cut his head open and made the blood Row—we struggled together and both fell on to the metals—when he was underneath
he screamed out "Smash his b—head, Joe." or something of that, it sounded like Joe. and in the same breath he cried "I will give in"—I was about to pull him off the metals when I received a blow on the back of my head and another on the small of my back, I don't know what with—I then relaxed my hold and staggered forward, and remembered no more until I was found; I was knocked insensible—it was the other man who struck me, not the man I was struggling with—when I became conscious I found Dr. Turle leaning over me; my right foot was off, and I was otherwise injured, but I didn't know to what extent—I was taken to Dr. Turle's house and attended to, and then I was sent to the Royal Free Hospital—the man who struck me wore cord trousers and a dark coat; he had a hat too large for him, which seemed to come all over his head; he had no whiskers, but wore a moustache—I gave a description to Inspector Bannister 24 hours afterwards—I could see the men by the starlight and the light from the signal-post, which reflects slightly from the bridge—my foot underwent amputation at the hospital, and I remained there five weeks—on 12th April, six or seven men were brought to my bedside, and amongst them I saw the prisoner, I said on looking at him that he was exactly like the second man who had assaulted me, but I would not swear positively to him—he had a moustache—it might have been a minute or two after he had been brought there that I said that, because I could not see him at first on account of the cradle in the front of the bed, and he was at the foot; I rose myself up, and as soon as I saw him, I said" That is exactly like the man who assaulted me, but I will not swear positively to him"; he made no remark to me whatever, although he distinctly heard what I said—my opinion now is, looking at the man, that he is exactly like the man who assaulted me, but his whiskers have grown now, he only had a moustache then—I was first examined on 2nd May—I am still of opinion that he is like the man who assaulted me; that is as far as I go.
Cross-examined. When I saw him at my bedside there was the absence of whiskers, and there was the absence of whiskers in the man who attacked me—I described the night as starlight, with intervals of clouds; it was rather calm, there was no moon—I had not seen either of these persons before, to my knowledge—I didn't see the second man on the second attack; I could we him before I closed with the other—I saw him twice, once with his back to me when they were running away, and once when I saw him with his arm upraised to deliver the blow, when I was kneeling on the other one; I knew he was close, and I looked up to see what would be the result—the blow followed immediately, and the blood rushed into my left eye—I am informed that I was lying on the rails an hour and a quarter before I was found, and I was at Dr. Turle two hours—he did not have any conversation with me, he only kept asking me if I was better—I believe I had a conversation at the hospital with Dr. Turle before the prisoner was apprehended, it was about the man who had committed the outrage; I said to him I should not like to swear on oath to the second man, but I was quite certain of the first; I said I could pick him out, but there was a possibility that in the darkness of the night, and in the struggling, I might make a mistake at to the other—I feel certain in my mind that the prisoner is the man, but I would not swear to him on oath.
and heard a moaning coming from the direction of the line—I went in that direction, and in the road I found a constable's cape and stick, and a little further on, on the bridge, I found this felt hat (produced.) and a constable's helmet—I should describe this as a felt hat which has been a hard one once—I found it at the commencement of the bridge, and the constable's helmet within a foot from it—I then got over the fence at the side of the railway bridge and down the embankment on to the line—I knew Barker was on duty that night, and I called after him, and he answered—I found his foot first, and then I found him lying at the side of the line on his back, bleeding from his face, with his helmet gone—the truncheon was by his side, and this iron jemmy. (produced.) was lying under him—his foot was six or seven yards away—I got assistance, and he was taken to Dr. Turle's, and afterwards to the hospital—it was a dark night—this (produced.) is a rough sketch of the railway bridge and the rails and signal light.
Cross-examined. When we conveyed Barker to Dr. Turle's house we pulled the hood over the ambulance to protect him from the cold, and two of us carried it, and at 5 o'clock we conveyed him in the ambulance to Woodside Park Station, and up to London to the Royal Free Hospital—his clothes were sent back in the ambulance about 11 o'clock in the day, and deposited in the station.
JAMES TURLE . M.D. I live at Woodside Grange—I was called up on 30th March, and went to the railway and saw Barker there—he was in a state of callapse and pulseless, and unable to speak—as soon as it got daylight I went down to the line, and found this scarf (produced.) in the six-foot way, close to the place where the struggle had been.
Cross-examined. It was a very dark night, and I had great difficulty in getting down the embankment without the policeman's light.
THOMAS BISSETT . I am Inspector of Police at Whetstone—on 30th March, a little after 2 a.m., I examined Dr. Turle's premises, and found the glass of the drawing-room window near the fastening was smeared outside with red paint—I found this jemmy. (produced.) and this tin box containing a piece of candle, and this brown paper smeared with the same substance as was on the window, and this box of matches and some files and some spent matches.
JENNET SCRIVENER . I am single—I was 17 last November—I am now living at the St. Pancras Infirmary—in March last I was living with the prisoner as his wife—we used to sleep in Mr. Cook's shed, near the Green Man—it is also near Finchley Cemetery—I had been sleeping with him in that shed in March for a fortnight—I had not lived with him anywhere before that—his name is Jesse John Cox; I used to call him Jesse—I saw him on Tuesday afternoon, the 29th, in the Green Man, between 3.30 and five—there were other people with him in the bar, and I thought I saw Jockey Smith there, the son of the landlord of the Green Man—I tapped at the window to get the prisoner to come out, and he beckoned for me to go away—I waited there about an hour, and then I went up to Highgate—I didn't like to go in—I did not return to the shed that night—I walked about Highgate all night, and got back to Finchley about nine o'clock next morning—I didn't go to sleep at all; I spoke to a good many people—I stayed out all night because I wanted to speak to him, and he would not come out, and I went away in a temper—he was dressed on that night in a pair of corduroy trousers and rather a dark coat, and a hard black felt hat, only it had been knocked about and got
soft—he had a moustache but no whiskers or beard—I saw him at nine o'clock on Wednesday morning, he said he had just come from doing some work—I found him on the Green, between the Green Man and the cemetery gates, just opposite the shed—he was then dressed as I have mentioned—he left me then, and told me he was going to cut some more turf, that he would not be long, and told me to wait, and he came to his dinner about one o'clock—during that time I walked about Finchley and went to East End—he was dressed in the same clothes—the first change I saw in his hat was on Thursday afternoon, I swear that—we slept in the same old shed on Wednesday night—on the Thursday afternoon I saw him with a new brown hard felt hat and a plaid red and black scarf—he had a white scarf on the Tuesday—he was between the Green Man and the cemetery when I saw him with the new hat and scarf, and he said that he had bought them then up Finchley—I don't know what became of the old hat—we went back to the shed on Thursday; I did not see anything of the old hat there—on the Friday night we slept at another shed, not far away; I think it was one of Mr. Cook's sheds—another man named Tom Edis and a woman named Alice also slept in that shed on that night—I never saw Edis before that Friday night—he slept at the same shed with us because Jesse and he said they were going away from Finchley on Saturday morning, and we did go away from this shed on Saturday morning—the prisoner did not say where or why he was going—Alice and I started at 6 o'clock in the morning as she was going to take me into her house to put on another dress—I don't know the name of the place we went to, we went over Highgate Archway to it; Alice lodged in the area there; there were a lot of people lodging there—I could point it out; I have not mentioned before that I went with Alice to that place—I have not been asked the question before—I had only known Alice on the Friday; she was a young woman, but I was told she was married and had two children—I changed my skirt and then we went to Holloway station and met the prisoner and Edis there by arrangement; I think it was just before 10 o'clock; the prisoner was still wearing the new hat and scarf—we all four then went on our way to Croydon, but we didn't know till we got there that we were going there—we walked all the way to Croydon—the prisoner wore his hat and scarf a little way, and then Edis's took it off and put it on his head and said he looked better in it, and the prisoner put Edis's hat on his head, and they kept it so till we came away from Croydon—that was when we were walking along the road—Edis's cap was a black one with a peak and flaps on each side, and the prisoner wore that until we came away from Croydon, and Edis wore Jesse's cap—the prisoner did not do any work at Croydon—the day before we came away they changed again, and Tom gave the prisoner a cap of his own shape, and then the prisoner went out and sold his hat and waistcoat and scarf—it was a laded green cap he gave him—I didn't notice whether the prisoner continued to wear the scarf when they changed hats—I don't know where he sold them; all I know is he came back without the new hat and scarf and waistcoat, and wearing the other cap—I came away with the prisoner from there on Saturday morning, leaving Edis and Alice there—I don't know what Edis was, but he was at work digging when we came away—I didn't notice any bruise or mark or cut upon him—the prisoner said he was going to take me back to Finchley—he
brought me up to Euston Road and left me there, asking me to wait, saying he would come back; I waited from 2 till 4, and he did not come back, and I then walked to Finchley—the police had not spoken to me at Croydon—on the Saturday night I stopped in a shed at the back of the White Lion, and on the Sunday, I think it was, I went to the infirmary—the police then came to me there for the first time—I don't know his name, I have seen him here to-day; he spoke to me, and I told him about this matter, and that is how they got the information about Croydon—the prisoner had not more than one coat that I know of—I know Dr. Turle's house; one day before I went to live with the prisoner I was walking round there with him and he said he had a cousin living there as a servant—when he was at Croydon I asked him what had become of his old hat, and he said he had thrown it away, he didn't say where—his old hat was something like this (produced.), but I don't think this is it, I think it was a little higher in the crown—it was the same sort of hat as this.
Cross-examined. He was cutting turf on the Wednesday morning when I saw him, and he had been cutting turf on the same piece of ground for days before, with a man named Dodd—he asked me then where I had been during the night, and I asked him where he had been, and he said "The same old place"; and he said he had whistled for me and did not know what had become of me—he was wearing the same hut then that I had seen him wearing before—I don't remember his saying on the Saturday when he went off to Croydon that no more work was to be gut at Finchley—I heard Edis say at the Five Bells, at Finchley, that he was going to Croydon to try and get work, and he did get work—when we got to Croydon Jesse and Edis both went out together—I didn't hear them apply for work, I don't know in fact that Edis did get work; he brought back some money with him, and the prisoner came back and said he could not get any work—he had no money left at the and of the week, and then he had to sell his hat and scarf and waistcoat, and he came back with some money and paid for the lodging—we were at a common lodging-house—I didn't see him with any money—we walked back to London—on the occasion that we went round by Dr. Turle's house that was by my own wish, as I did not want to pass in front of my mother's house—T had been with a girl before I lived with the prisoner—when we were walking along the road home the prisoner wanted me to return to my mother's, and I said I didn't want to go home—Edis was a fair man, with no whiskers—I don't know whether he had a moustache, he had no beard—the prisoner continued to wear the new hat all through Finchley—it was not until we got near Croydon that Edis took the prisoner's hat off.
By the. COURT. I am sure that on Wednesday night the prisoner was wearing the same hat he had worn on Tuesday, not the new hut—I can read; this produced is my handwriting. (The deposition stated: "I saw him again on Wednesday night about. 5 o'clock, he was not at work; he was wearing then not the same hat he wore on Tuesday.) When I said that, I meant Thursday all the time—we did not quarrel upon the Wednesday morning that I can remember—I did not see anyone I knew on Tuesday night, only when I was coming home I saw a man named Cook, who lives somewhere at East End, and I spoke to him—the prisoner generally wore a white scarf; he had no other that I know of.
Parade, North Finchley—on Wednesday, 30th March, about a quarter to one, a man came into the shop and bought a hard felt mouse-coloured hat, price 2s. 6d., and also a muffler, price 6d., the colour was black ground with red stripes—when he came in he was wearing a black hat, which had been battered about rather, and I asked him if I should put it in a bag for him—he said "No," he would put it in his pocket—I could not swear to the man, the prisoner is something after the same build—I don't think this hat (produced.) is like the one the man was wearing when he bought the new one.
Cross-examined. I could not say whether he was wearing a scarf.
HENRY SMITH . I am an ostler, and son of Edward Smith, the landlord of the Green Man at Finchley—on Tuesday evening, 29th March, I was in my father's public-house—the prisoner was there, and left about 10 minutes to 11 with James Ashby; he was then wearing a lightish coat and a pair of light cord trousers and a very old hard felt hat—this (produced.) is not the hat—I saw him again on Wednesday, the following day, about half-past one or two—he was then wearing a new lightish brown hard felt hat and a black and red scarf—I saw him again between seven and eight, and he was wearing the same sort of hat and the same scarf—he left about 10 minutes to 11.
Cross-examined. I had been working with the prisoner and a man named Dodd, cutting turf in the neighbourhood—Dodd employed us both at a wage—the job ended on Thursday, the last day of March, and there was no more work to be got—I was not at work with him on Wednesday or Thursday, but I worked with him (prisoner) on the Tuesday—on Wednesday evening, about 10 o'clock, there was some racing in the road between myself and some other man—I cannot say if the prisoner held one end of the handkerchief—the coat the prisoner is wearing now is the one he had on then, the one he always wore—I am ostler to my father, and I do odd jobs when there is no work at home.
By the. COURT. I do not serve in the public-house at all—I cannot remember whether I was in the public-house on Tuesday afternoon, I might have been—the prisoner was in and out of the house all day long—he didn't go away from the house all day on Tuesday, he was out at work, and after he had finished cutting so much he came in and then went out again—Ashby is a mason living at Finchley; he was there in the early part, he generally came in about eight—I do not know Ed is—the prisoner on Tuesday night was in the company of myself, my brother, and Ashby—Ashby left at nine o'clock or soon after—I know the girl that used to go about with the prisoner, she was at our house once, and my father told her to go out—I do not know a girl named Alice—the prisoner's old hat was perched up at one side and rather narrow at the top and pulled down—it had had a lot of wear, it was not broken, it was very soft, it been a hard hat, I never had it in my hand—he generally used to wear a white choker round his neck, no other colour that I remember.
EDWARD SMITH . I am the landlord of the Green Man—the prisoner frequented my house—on Tuesday, 29th March, in the evening, I saw him there—I was at home all day, but the principal part of the day I was in the garden—I was attending to the bar in the evening when the prisoner was there—I knew this girl was outside, and I saw the prisoner make a motion with his arm, and I went outside to see who was there—that
was between eight and nine or nine and ten—the girl was standing looking in at the window with her arms folded on the window sill—I don't know what became of her—I didn't observe the prisoner go out then, but he was not in the house when we closed up—we never allowed the woman in the house—I did not notice particularly the prisoner's hat on that night; he generally wore a hard felt hat, very much battered about—I saw him first with a new hat on Wednesday afternoon, I am quite sure about that—I noticed also he had on a new scarf, but I didn't notice what colour.
Cross-examined. He used the house frequently with Scrivener, and I told her to go out because I knew she had left her place and was knocking about the place—I did not consider her a proper person to use a public-house, and I believe I told him he was not to bring her in there.
JAMES ASHBY . I am a mason, living at Finchley—on Tuesday night, 29th March, I was in the Green Man and left about 11—the prisoner came out after me, and we walked up the road together, and about 200 yards up the hill Livermore overtook us—the prisoner said "Good night" opposite Cook's farm and went away—that is near about 200 or 300 yards from the Grown Man—I went about 100 yards further with liver-more and then went home—I first noticed the prisoner with a new hat on the Wednesday about half-past one; he had a new scarf also.
Cross-examined. I know Cook's farm, the sheds are in the opposite direction to Dr. Turle's house—when the prisoner left me he went across the road in the direction of the shed—I did not hear him whistle—I was present outside the Green Man next day when there was a race between Harry Smith and someone else—I held one end of the handkerchief, I don't know if the prisoner held the other end—I dare say he did, that was about 10 or half-past when the carriers came up there.
WILLIAM BROWN . (Police Sergeant.) I am stationed at High Barnet—on 16th April I made a search in the sand-pits near the cemetery gates at Finchley, and found this hat (produced.)—the pits are about 10 yards from the shed where the prisoner and the girl used to sleep.
THOMAS BANNISTER . I am an Inspector in the Criminal Investigation Department—about 8 p.m. on the evening of 11th April I went to a common lodging-house in Croydon—I had previously seen Scrivener at the infirmary, and she made a statement to me. in consequence of which I went to Croydon—I found the prisoner in the passage of the house, and said "We are police officers; you are Jesse Cox, I believe?—he said "No I aint."—I said "But I know you are"—he said "Well, yes I am"—I said "You exactly answer to the description of one of the men we want, and I am going to apprehend you for being concerned with another man in attempting to break into the residence of Dr. Turle at North Finchley on the morning of 30th March last, and violently assaulting Police-constable Barker"—he said "All right"—I brought him up to town to the police-station, and about a quarter-past 3 next day I took him to the Royal Free Hospital, and placed him with six others at the bedside of Barker—the prisoner had no whiskers when I first took him, only a moustache—I saw at Croydon a man named Edis and a woman named Alice—I took Edis with him; he had no marks upon him of being injured; he is a labouring man—I did not take him in custody; he came voluntarily—when he left the hospital I gave him my card, and he went back to Croydon, and we don't know where he has gone—he was placed with the others at the hospital, and Barker
picked the prisoner out directly he saw him—I sent to Sergeant Ward, who is stationed at Croydon, and he has inquired about Edis—it was understood that Edis would let me know at once if he was going to leave Croydon.
Cross-examined. Edis was seen by Barker, but he made no reference to him; he was one of the seven, the others were out-patients of the hospital—I cannot say whether all of them had got moustaches; I know some had—I chose them as much like the prisoner as I could—Edis does not answer to the description of the other man in any way—he was placed with the other men as satisfaction to himself as much as anything else—the police in the country have a warrant out against the prisoner at this moment for poaching and violently assaulting a gamekeeper.
SARAH Cox . I am cook to Dr. Turle, at Woodside Grange, North Finchley—I have been there nine years—the prisoner is my cousin—he has never visited me there—I did nut know he was lodging in Finchley at this time—I had not seen him for nine years, all the time I was at Dr. Turle's.
JOHN WOOD . (Police Sergeant.) I made the plan produced—it is a mile 1,251 yards from Dr. Turle's house to the sheds, and 221 yards from the Green Man to the sheds—I also made the rough plan of this railway; the distance from the signal light to the bridge is 60 yards, and the light is 10 feet above the level of the bridge—the signal is 30 feet above the level of the rails.
NOT GUILTY .
There was another indictment against the prisoner for attempting to commit the burglary at Dr. Turle's, upon this no evidence was offered, and a verdict of.
NOT GUILTY . was taken.
The Grand Jury made a presentment greatly commending the conduct of the constable Barker. MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS. also expressed a high opinion of his conduct, and awarded him a sum of. 25l.
NEW COURT.—Thursday, May. 26th, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. HORACE AVORY. Prosecuted. MR. BESLEY. Defended.
The prosecutor having stated that he did not consider that the prisoner intended to cheat him of the money at the time he obtained it, the. RECORDER considered that there was no case to go to the Jury, upon which. MR. AVORY withdrew from the prosecution.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. PAYN. Prosecuted. MR. PURCELL. Defended.
ALBERT GEORGE POVEY . I am a traveller, of 10, Clarence Street, St. Luke's—on 23rd April, about 12 at night, I was with Mr. Billingsley in the City Road, and saw a party of men in front of us, one of whom fell in front of us, which tripped us both up, as we were arm-in-arm—we got up, and a little further on the same thing occurred, and three or four men fell on top of me, and my watch was taken from my waistcoat pocket and a bunch of keys from my trousers pocket, and I received a severe kick in my back—my friend, who had got free, called "Police,"
and the three men started running—he pointed the prisoner out to the police, but I did not recognise him—the policeman gave me my keys.
Cross-examined. We had been in the Red Lion—I have no recollection how long we were there—we had had a glass—I left business about 5 o'clock, and went home—I went out between 7 and 8, and was walking about till 11.30—I was perfectly sober—I met my friend at the Red Lion.
CHARLES BILLINGSLEY . I live at 48, Haberdasher Street, Hoxton—I was with Povey at 12 o'clock on this Saturday night going home—we saw four or five men in front of us going from us—the centre man fell down, and one fell over him one way and one the other—I lost my hat, and went to find it, and found a man trying to get it into his own hat—I got it from him and ran to my friend—we were thrown down again in exactly the same way—I do not recognise the prisoner as throwing me down, but I saw him lying on top of me—I called "Police," and the three got up and walked away—the police came, and I saw three men walking away, one of whom was the prisoner—I said "That is one of them"—they had then gone 80 or 100 yards.
Cross-examined. I met Povey in the Red Lion at 11 o'clock, not earlier—we came out before 12—there was a lamp at the corner—the prisoner was not taken on the spot—t saw the prisoner pick up the keys in the road, and said "Those are my friend's keys"
GEORGE SAMUELS . (Policeman. 365 G.) I heard cries of police and went to the spot, which was 40 yards off, and three men were pointed out to me going away together in a trot; the prisoner is the centre one—while I was chasing them I heard a bunch of keys dropped on the pavement; I picked them up and seized the prisoner; the prosecutor came up and identified him; he Said "The prostitute has got the watch"—he had been drinking—Povey and Billingsley may have had a glass, I cannot say that they were drunk—I retained the keys.
Cross-examined. I did not give them to Povey, but I showed them to him—there were a good many prostitutes about in groups—the prisoner did not say "The prostitutes have got the watch, I suppose."
NOT GUILTY .
MR. SAUNDERS. Prosecuted. MR. BAKER. Defended.
The libel charged the prosecutor with seducing a girl of. 14, who afterwards became the prisoner's wife, and the. RECORDER. considered that as no plea of justification was pleaded, there was no answer to the charge.
GUILTY. Recommended to mercy by the Jury.— To enter into his own recognisances in. 50l. to come up for judgment if called upon and to keep the peace for twelve months.
To enter into recognisances in. 20l. to appear and receive judgment if called upon, and to keep the peace for twelve months.
MR. HOPKINS. and. MR. DILL. Prosecuted. MR. PHILBRICK. Q.C., Defended.
The. RECORDER. considered that although the prisoner's statement might be more or less incorrect, it fell very far short of perjury; upon which. MR. HOPKINS. withdrew from the Prosecution.
NOT GUILTY .
THIRD COURT.—Thursday, May. 26th, 1887.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
BRENNAN.*— Six Months' Hard Labour. O'NEIL.— Judgment respited. And
636. WILLIAM BARBER.* (46) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] to burglariously entering the dwelling-house of Henry Schirmer and stealing a dress-skirt and a cigar-case, after a conviction of felony in August, 1872, in the name of Joseph Collins .— Six Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. BROXHOLME. Prosecuted.
JAMES EDWARDS . I live at 80, Englefield Road, Islington—about 11 o'clock on 20th April I fastened up my house; I can swear all the doors were all right, and I usually fasten the windows, but I could not swear to them that night—there are long bars to the windows inside and out—I was awakened about 4 a.m. by the police whistling—I got up and came downstairs, where I found the wash house window had been opened from the outside, one of the long bars having been forcibly wrenched away so as to admit of anyone getting into the kitchen—I found in the kitchen three drawers had been ransacked—a tablecloth had been taken from one of the drawers and placed on the table—two cupboards had been opened and a basket of cutlery had been taken and placed on the kitchen table—my wife's Ulster was found rolled up and thrown down in the corner of the kitchen by the door—in the breakfast parlour I found this cruet-stand had been taken from the book-case and placed on the table—a parcel of unbound "Matthew Henry's Commentaries" had been removed and placed in the centre of the room—two cupboards in that room were wide open—in the parlour upstairs a cruet-stand and traveller's satchel had been removed from the sideboard and placed on the table—a wax candle was burning on the centre of the table on the tablecloth.
GEORGE LOVELL . (Policeman. 351 J.) At 4 o'clock on 20th April I was on duty in Englefield Road, and noticed a light burning in the prosecutor's passage through the glass panels of the hall door—I went and got the assistance of two other constables, and they went round to the hack of the house, and I went and knocked at the front door—getting no answer, I looked through the Venetian blinds, to the front parlour window, which were not properly closed—I saw the prisoner standing near the table with a candle burning, and another man on his knees at the side cupboard; I knocked, and then the prisoner and the other man ran out into the hall—I could see the prisoner quite plainly, but the other man was in a stooping position, and I could not see him—they both ran out at the back—I blew my whistle—the side gates were closed, and I could
not get over them, as they were eight feet high, but I looked over the top and saw the prisoner and the other man going across the back garden; it was just getting daylight—I went round to the back, and there saw the prisoner in custody.
Cross-examined. You went across the back garden and over the wall into Ockenden Road.
HERBERT BUSWELL . (Policeman. 34 JR.) At 4 a.m. on 20th I heard a whistle, and then was spoken to by the other constable, and I went round to Ockenden Road. which runs parallel with Englefield Road—the back gardens of the houses in Englefield Road and Ockenden Road adjoin; both roads run out of the Essex Road—after waiting in the Ockenden Road about ten minutes, I saw the prisoner come from between the houses which backed the house in Englefield Road, and cross the road—the houses are semi-detached—he came towards where I was standing—I went towards him and he re-crossed the road—I stopped him and said "What were you doing in the backs?"—he said "You have made a mistake; what do you mean about the backs?"—I noticed his hands were black, as if by climbing walls—the walls dividing the gardens between Englefield and Ockenden Roads are about 5 feet high—I took him into custody—on the way to the station I said the other constable that accompanied me "I hope they will look out and get the other one"—the prisoner said "You ought to be satisfied with one out of two; half a loaf is better than none; I expect you will be too late for the other one; he will be gone"—I took him to the station, where I found on him a box of matches, a tobacco pouch and pipe, a small key, and a knife.
Cross-examined. I stopped you about 150 yards from the prosecutor's house, towards the Southgate Road, at the upper part of the Ockenden Road, near the Essex Road—Ockenden and Englefield Roads are some length—you could come between the houses—there was a policeman at the other end of the road.
The prisoner in his defence said that he was walking along the road going to business, when the constable detained him.
GEORGE LOVELL . (Re-examined.) There are about three inches between each lath of the Venetian blinds—I was standing on the steps of the front door leaning over—the window was 10 feet from the ground, and the steps are at the side.
JAMES EDWARDS . (Re-examined.) The venetian blind had been newly done up and did not act properly, and I have since that noticed when I pull them down that I can look through myself—the glass of the front door is partly frosted and partly plain—you can see through.
The prisoner then.
MR. JONES LEWIS. Prosecuted. MR. BURNIE. Defended.
BAXTER HUNT . (City Detective Sergeant.) On Monday morning, 2nd May, with Detective Davidson, I was called to Mr. Bennett's premises, 50, Ludgate Hill—No. 70 in the Old Bailey joins No. 50 at the back, and there is a party wall between the two—I entered No. 70; there is a street door and an inner door at the foot of the staircase, and on the left
it is a shoemaker's, in different occupation—I found the door at the foot of the stairs had been forced open—that gave access to the roof of No. 70—I went to the roof and then found that a hole had been cut through the brick wall, which gave access to the whole of Mr. Bennett's premises, No. 50, Ludgate Hill—the hole was large enough to admit a man—I went to the first floor of No. 50 and found the lid of a safe in the office had been forced off and two or three drawers had also been forced—on the ground floor I found another safe and desks had been forced—on the third floor I found a boarded partition had been cut by a centre-bit and boards had been taken from it, giving access to Messrs. Hudson's premises, 52, Ludgate Hill, a provision shop—on the ground floor there I found a safe had been forced and several desks and doors also—I made a further examination of the top of Mr. Bennett's premises and I found this bar or chisel, and a file, which was afterwards identified as Mr. Bennett's—it had been used in order to make the hole through the brick wall larger—there are marks on it—the thieves appeared to have gone through the hole and back again into No. 70, and let themselves out by the street door there, which fastens on a spring lock.
FREDERICK BENNETT . I trade as Bennett Brothers at 50, Ludgate Hill, glass, china, and fancy goods dealers—on Saturday, 30th April, I was there till about 3 o'clock, and I locked the safe in my office on the first floor, off which the top was found forced—the premises were open till 8 o'clock—I did not lock the safe on the ground floor, my son was there till 8 o'clock—I cannot speak to the safe in the basement—there was no hole between my house and No. 70 on the Saturday night—the safes were small, one was Tann's and one Hobbs'; the metal was an inch thick and cut through with a cold chisel—on Monday I arrived about 9 o'clock and found the place in the possession of the police—I found one safe had been taken out of position in the office—I missed 23l. which was in the lower safe on Saturday, and 22l. or 3l. from the till in the front shop—there were a number of articles in trays in glass cases in the shop, and two of the trays had been emptied of all their contents—I identify these as some of the articles, the bulk of them I can swear to—the articles mentioned in the indictment are mine—other articles were missed which are not here—about 16 years ago my premises were in the same occupation as No. 70, Samuel Brothers—they now occupy the workshop in the Old Bailey where the thieves entered, but the old communication between that and No. 50 was bricked up—the thieves got on the roof and then through the wall.
Cross-examined. I also missed a good many other articles besides these which have been recovered.
Re-examined. The marked value of articles I lost is something like 40l. in addition to the 25l.
JAMES HUDSON . I am a member of the firm of Hudson Brothers, provision merchants, 52, Ludgate Hill—on Saturday, 30th April, I was at my premises at 9 p.m.—I locked the premises up; I saw the safe locked up—it was an ordinary safe with no name on it—there was no hole in the wall between our premises and Mr. Bennett's when I left—the safe was on the first floor—on Monday morning I got there about 20 minutes to 8; I found the place in disorder, the safe had been broken
open behind, and nearly all the desks and drawers forced, and I missed about 13l. in money out of the sate and two 30l. debenture stocks in the Salisbury Club—both safes were all right on the Saturday, and both had been broken open—I saw the hole in the wall on Monday; it was large enough for a man to go through.
DAVID HAWKINS . I live at 82, Packington Street, Essex Road, Islington, and am assistant to Messrs. Samuel Brothers, and have charge of the upper part of 70, Old Bailey, which they occupy—on Saturday, 30th April, I was the last to leave; I did so at 3 o'clock—everything was safe—I locked the inner door at the bottom of the stairs, and put a bar across and padlocked that—on Monday morning I came at 9 and found the place in the possession of the police—Hunt and Davidson were there—the padlock had been broken in half and the door opened—we lost nothing—formerly No. 70 and Mr. Bennett's premises were all in one.
EDMUND SMYTH . I live at 70, Myddelton Street, Clerkenwell, and am manager of Mr. Gibbs's boot shop on the ground floor of 70, Old Bailey—Messrs. Samuel occupy the upper part—there is an inner door which belongs to Messrs. Samuel, and an outer door which I have charge of——on Saturday, 30th April, I was the last to leave the premises—I left at 10 or five minutes past 10 p.m.; I locked the outer door and turned the key—on Monday morning I came about a quarter to 9; the door had been opened by Samuel's people—Davidson tried my key in the lock, it would not work—I had locked the door with that key on the Saturday, it worked all right then.
BENJAMIN FORDHAM . (Detective Sergeant G.) About half-past 10 a.m. on Wednesday, 4th May, I was with Sewell in President Street, Goswell Road, and I saw the prisoner coming along, with this box under his arm—we followed him up President Street—he went into a public-house at the corner of President Street and Goswell Road—he stayed there a short time and then went up Goswell Road and down Rawston Street, still with the box under his arm, into Buxton Street—he was about to enter 16, Buxton Street, when I stopped him and said "What have you got in that box?"—he said "Who are you?"—we were in plain clothes—I said "We are police officers, and I want you to satisfy me as to what is in that box; if not I shall take you to the station"—he said "I cannot show you here, I will go to the station"—I took him to the station—when there I said "What is in the box?"—he said "I don't know"—I said "who gave you the box?"—he said "A man gave it to me to carry, I decline to say who that man is"—the box was opened in our presence and the prisoner's—these articles were in the box, Mr. Bennett has spoken to them—I was present before the Magistrate when Sewell was examined—he gave his evidence, and it was taken down by the clerk on the depositions—the prisoner had the opportunity of cross-examining him.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was carrying the box quite openly under his arm—he had an overcoat on I believe—the box was fastened down and had to be opened with a chisel—he stopped in the public-house some time with the box under his arm—he said he did not know what was in it I did not ask what the name of the man was who he said had given it to him—he said at once "I decline to give his name."
morning about 11.30, at his house, 17, Henry Street, Pentonville—he was lying in bed all done up in flannel, and is unable to come here today to give evidence.ARTHUR SEWELL'S. deposition was here read as follows. "I am a detective sergeant of the G Division. I was with Sergeant Fordham and heard all that took place between him and the prisoner up to my opening the box, and what Fordham has said is true—I opened the box at the station, in the prisoner's presence, and it contained 33 metal lockets, a charm, &c. (Giving a list of the articles.) I said to him 'Now, seeing what is in the box, what account do you give of it?' He said I saw it near Pickford's gateway, and I thought I could carry it home and see what was in it.' He was then charged with the unlawful possession. He was taken to the police-station. Remanded till Saturday, when he was discharged by the Magistrate. I detained him and handed him over to the City police."
GUILTY. † of receiving.— Twenty Months' Hard Labour. There was another indictment against the prisoner for the burglary at Messrs. Hudson's.
MR. PAYNE. Prosecuted. MR. GEOGHEGAN. Defended.
The prisoner received a good character.
GUILTY .— Fifteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. BROUN. Prosecuted. MR. BURNIE. Defended.
JOHN ROWLING . (Police inspector.) I administered the oath to the prisoner at Brentford on 9th May, in a matter between Joseph Band and Florence Goff, who was then charged (as this charge sheet shows) on a warrant for wilful and malicious damage, by breaking nine panes of glass in a window at Boston Road, Ealing, and damaging shrubs—the defence raised was partly by cross-examination and partly by the statement of the then accused—the prisoner was called as a witness, and said that Joseph Band was at her house in the Gunnersbury Road on the night of the 5th; than Mr. Band went there to make an arrangement with Mary Florence Goff to give her a sum of money, and that he met her by appointment at Boston Park Road, and there attempted to take liberties with her, and cut her with a knife—no charge of cutting with a knife or attempted assault had then been made by her against Band, but a statement had been made.
Cross-examined. I saw the statement in the occurrence book—I was not present when it was made, but I have no doubt the prisoner's daughter made a statement to the effect that Band had met her at this house, attempted to take liberties with her, and cut her with a knife—the only matter then being inquired into at Brentford was the malicious damage which was alleged to have taken place between 11 and 12 on the night of the 5th.
Re-examined. Mary Florence Goff then made a similar statement to the one she had made at the station—I don't think it was alleged that the window was broken in the course of the scuffle—a note was taken of the case, I cannot say where it is.
HENRY WARREN . (Police Sergeant. 2 T.) I was present when the prisoner was sworn at Brent ord on 9th May on a charge against her daughter, Mary Florence, of wilful damage to a window and some shrubs—I saw the oath administered to her by the last witness—the defence raised on behalf of Mary Florence Goff was to the effect that an appointment was made for a settlement—I don't remember where the appointment was to be—no defence was raised in my presence as to the breaking of the shrubs, I did not hear all the evidence—Surrey Lane, Gunnersbury, is nearly one and a half miles from Glenhurst Road, Brentford.
Cross-examined. The Magistrate's clerk is not here—she alleged that Band was at her house from seven to nine p.m.
JOSEPH BAND . I was staying at the Three Pigeons, Brentford, on 5th May—I am proprietor of the parchment factory, Glenhurst Road, Brentford—I was present at the Petty Sessions at Brentford on 9th May, when the prisoner gave evidence—she stated that I went to her house on the evening of 5th May about dusk and stayed there about two hours; that I sent for some beer, and made an appointment in her presence to meet her daughter later in the evening at Brentford—that is what I believe I heard her say—I was not at her house, Surrey Lane, Gunnersbury, on 5th May—the whole of those statements are quite false—the defence Mary Florence Goff raised was that I met her by appointment in the Boston Road on the night of the damage, that I attempted to take liberties with her, that she resisted, and that I used a knife, stabbing her in the hand; and that the other damage that was done I did myself—I don't recollect her saying how—I don't think she explained how.
Cross-examined. The prisoner did not swear anything as to what took place at the time of the damage; I don't think she said she was there—she only spoke as to the appointment some hours before.
Re-examined. She said the appointment was to be carried out at Brentford.
ERNEST SAUNDERS . I live at Brentford—I was present in Court when this charge was heard—the prisoner said that Band was at her house in Surrey Road on the night of the 5th May for two hours, and while there he sent for two pints of ale, and made an arrangement with Mary Florence Goff to meet her in Boston Road later in the evening—I don't remember what defence was raised by Mary Florence Goff.
These being the only witnesses who deposed to what had taken place at the trial. MR. BURNIE. submitted that the evidence which the prisoner then gave, and upon which perjury was assigned, was not material to the issue then before the Court. After hearing Mr. Browne, the. COMMON SERJEANT. upheld Mr. Burnie's objection, and directed a verdict of.
NOT GUILTY .
(For cases tried in the Old Court on Friday and Saturday, see Kent and Surrey cases.)
NEW COURT. Friday, May. 27th, 1887.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. LOCKWOOD. Q.C., and. MR. MEAD. Prosecuted. Mr. WILLIS. Q.C., Defended.
EDWIN KEEN . I am an insurance agent, of 27, Avenue Road, Southampton—in October, 1886, I lived in London; I saw an advertisement in the Hampshire Advertiser. that a London Insurance Company required district managers at a salary of 150l. per annum and commission, address Chairman, 2, Salisbury Court, Fleet Street—I wrote in answer to that. (This applied for the post of district manager to the Southampton district.) I received a reply, asking me to make a formal application, and enclosing a synopsis of terms. (The synopsis stated that salary would be 150l. per annum, with a commission of. 5per cent, on direct and. 2 1/2 per cent. on agents' premiums, and that the candidate would be required to hold fifteen. 2l. shares fully paid.) I wrote this letter of 24th October, and then this of the 25th October. (This applied for the post of sub-manager for the Southampton district, according to the terms, stated his qualifications, and gave two references and testimonials.) On 29th October I received this letter from the Company signed J.B. Henry. (Stating that he had been elected manager of the Southampton district, on the understanding that he returned, duly signed, the share application, with the amount of the qualification therein.) A share application was enclosed—I filled up the application and called on 30th October at the Company's office, 171, Queen Victoria Street—I saw the name of the Company on the door post—I inquired for the secretary, Mr. Henry—I was informed he would be in shortly—I called again and was shown to the prisoner, whom I supposed to be Mr. Henry—I did not hear his name, nor did I address him by name to my knowledge—I said I had called to inquire as to the condition of the Company, to know whether it was a thoroughly sound affair; the prisoner told me that it was in a thoroughly sound condition, doing a large and increasing business, and that it had doubled within the last year—I stated what I had been doing, and that I had considerable influence with many gentlemen; he said I might fairly use the name of Lord Garmoyle as the president—I said I had not brought the money with me, as I had simply come to inquire—he said I must, if I thought of the appointment, bring the money very shortly, as another gentleman was recommended by one of the directors—I asked to see the balance-sheet; he said the financial year of the Company was just concluded, and the balance-sheet would shortly be issued—I then left, and called again on 2nd November, when I paid the 30l.—I took this form of application, signed, and handed it in—I had this receipt. (This was signed A. Matthews cashier.) I gave the money to the prisoner, who gave it to Mr. Matthews—I asked to see the form of appointment, and one similar to this was shown me. (Clause. 6 of this stated that the witness must bring. 47 new cases into the office every year.) I had not seen this before I paid my money—I signed it; I asked the prisoner as to the mode of payment after reading it, and calling his attention to clause 6, and saving I did not see how in the first three months it was probable I could do that amount of business; he said I need be under no apprehension, as they settled everything monthly—I asked if I should attend at the office to get some notion of the working of the business—he said it was perfectly unnecessary, as the travelling inspector would visit me shortly, and give me all information—I had seen the travelling inspector's name, Cotton, on the prospectus—I signed the receipt of the appointment; I received the scrip for the shares some
days afterwards—in consequence of being appointed I removed from London to Southampton—I received the form of appointment—I did my best in every way to do business for the Company from 15th November to January—I had considerable correspondence about the business I was endeavouring to do, asking questions and receiving replies—ultimately I wrote for my salary several times; I never obtained it—I received this letter of 10th January, 1887. (From the Secretary, saying that he would submit his request, to the Board, and that in the meantime it would help the matter forward if he referred to the business he had done, and especially as to clause. 6 of the agreement.) Ultimately I received a letter rescinding my appointment. (This said that at a Board meeting on. 10 th January it was resolved that E. Keen, having failed to carry out the conditions of his appointment, it was thereby terminated; this was enclosed in a letter stating that if he made up in that month the arrears of business as per clause. 6, they would consider favourably any application for the withdrawal of the notice rescinding his appointment.) I never received back any of the 30l.—it was on the faith of the representations as to the condition of the Company, that I paid the money.
Cross-examined. I have not been asked nor influenced by any person to say that—I came up to town on other business, and I then called on the official liquidator to know what was being done about this Company—that was somewhere about 6th May, I should think—I did not know an examination had then taken place at the Mansion House—I first learnt a prosecution had been commenced at that time, and I offered myself as a witness—I might have got business—I sent up one proposal, which was accepted—I took the premium and kept it—it was about 2l. 19s., I think—that was in the course of December—I knew I was taking shares in the Company—I read the synopsis of terms, and saw clearly from that, that I was to take 15 shares—I called attention to clause 6 before I signed the acceptance on 2nd November—I did not see the prisoner, to my knowledge, on any other occasions than 30th October and 2nd November—I was shown this after I had paid my money on 2nd November, as far as I recollect—I was not shown the form of appointment before I paid my money—this is the appointment, I believe—I called attention to clause 6 in it after I paid my money, on 2nd November—I was shown no form of appointment before I paid my money—November 15th is on it, because it was sent down to me afterwards—I had forgotten the date on which I signed the acceptance of the appointment, it was the 15th—I saw from clause 6 that my remuneration would depend very much on the premiums I got and the business I did—I simply asked as to the solvency of the Company—I did not know whether the Company was doing a large business, so that I could procure the payment of my salary, I asked no questions on these points, but only as to the position of the Company—Mr. Sayle told me they were doing a largely increasing business, I asked him nothing about the business—I did not ask to see any books which contained entries of business done and insurances effected—I asked to see a balance-sheet—I relied on his statement and paid my money—he said a balance-sheet would be published shortly—at the end of December it was sent to me as a shareholder—I have not made any inquiry as to the actual amount of business done by this office in any way—I called on the liquidator to see if there was any chance of getting my money back—I don't know that they went into
liquidation in February—I learnt that there was a liquidation from a paper sent me anonymously—I do not know who sent it.
Re-examined. This document was shown to me at the office on 2nd November—the 2nd November is not in my writing—I made repeated calls on intended assurers, and in several cases I was shown copies of Stubbs's weekly list contaning copies of County Court judgments—I found that a difficulty in my way—this is a letter from me to the secretary. (This complained that the secretary's letter of the previous day did not answer the witness's of. 1st January.)—I had written on the 29th.
EDWARD CHRISTIAN HODGSON . I now live at Camberwell—in December last I was living at New Barnes Farm, Bourne, Cambridgeshire—I saw this advertisement in the Hertfordshire and Cambridgeshire Reporter (For manager for the Mansfield district of the Protector Carriage and Horse Insurance Company.—I replied by this letter. (Offering himself for the post.) and in reply received this letter. (Dated November. 7th, signed J.B. Henry, secretary, enclosing a synopsis and stating that he would have to give two references.)—I then wrote this letter (Enquiring terms and giving two references.)—I then received this letter. (Stating. "We have heard from your references and have the pleasure to inform you that you have been appointed for the district of Royston, and enclose a share application to be filled up")—I filled up the share application but did not sign it, and on December 14th I went to 171, Queen Victoria Street and saw Mr. Henry who showed me in to Dr. Sayle, the prisoner—I asked him about the appointment; he said that the money should be paid at once; I did not sign the application—I asked him the terms; he said that the salary would be paid monthly, and I went away—I went again next day, saw Sayle and told him I had brought 10l. in gold, and asked if he would give me some information about the Company, and if it was solvent; he said "Perfectly," and that I must send up the amount at once—I said that I would pay the 10l. on deposit, and asked him what it was for; he said "It is only matter of form and as security'—I paid the 10l.; he gave it to Mr. Matthews, one of his clerks, who gave me this receipt. (Signed A. Matthews.)—I then signed this application form for the shares (produced.) and sent this cheque for 20l. (produced.) by post for the balance and got this receipt from Mr. Matthews, the cashier; but before that I received this letter, stating that the Directors had allotted me 15 shares—on 18th December I received my appointment, dated 20th December, 1886 (produced.)—I afterwards wrote this letter to the prisoner. (Asking him to send the inspector down.)—I never saw the inspector; the prisoner had told me that the inspector would be down to give me personal assistance—I commenced business at Huntingdon on 20th December—on 21st January I wrote this letter. (Applying for his salary.) and received this reply. (Stating that his letter would be submitted to the Board, and referring him to Clause. 6 of the appointment.)—I replied that I was doing business, and that I had been told that my salary would be paid monthly—I then received this letter of 26th June, 1887. (Stating that no money had yet been received by the directors.)—I afterwards received this letter, stating "Our representative will be with you on Monday at 1 o'clock"; he did not come—I then wrote this letter. (Applying for his salary, and stating that another month would be due in nine days, and if he did not receive it he should return the proposals.)—I received no remittance and nobody came down, and about 8th February I went to London and saw the prisoner—I
asked him with regard to my salary; he said that the matter was going to be brought forward before the Directors at the next meeting, and asked me about business; I said that I had business in hand and should be glad to send it up—he said he would send me a cheque if I would do as much business as I could in the meantime, and I went away—I got no cheque, and on 14th February I came up again and saw Dr. Sayle—I asked him about my salary; he said that he should like to see some business sent up first—I said "No, I should like to get my salary and expenses back"; he said "I cannot do that"—I got nothing—he said something about another advertisement to get the shares taken by somebody else, and then I might get my 30l. back—another person came in and he ushered me out, and outside the door I told him I had heard that there were a lot of judgment summonses against the Company and asked him the meaning of it, and if I should continue business; he said "That has nothing to do with it, that is only matters in dispute between the Judge and the Company, the Company is all right"—I paid my 10l. hearing that the Company was sound, and that it was only for security, and the same with regard to the cheque.
Cross-examined. I mean security for the collection of money—Dr. Sayle said that it was only matter of form—I applied for 15 shares at 2l. each, and they were allotted to me—I asked for them in February, but never got them—Dr. Sayle said "There is no necessity; you have the allotment, that is sufficient"—I am quite sure Dr. Sayle said that the Company was sound and solvent, and I said so on my first examination on December 14—I did not ask to see the books of the Company to see what business was being done, but Dr. Sayle brought out the insurance book, and said that he was doing between 400l. and 500l. a month in insurances, but he did not put the book before my eyes; he kept tight hold of it—I only saw one book—I believe I went to see Dr. Sayle in March, I do not know the date—I know I saw him after I left the Company—I asked him to see me in private, as there were one or two people there, but he said he was too busy and said "Whatever you have got to say say it before my clerk," but at last giving way to my request he gave me a private interview—I said that I had got some information which would be very valuable to him, and told him I had got two patents to sell—he was to form a Company to assist me in working them—I do not see why I should reveal it.
WILHELM COOKLE . I am a German professor in a school, and live at Old School Lane, Dewsbury Moor, Yorkshire—on 4th December I saw an advertisement in the Dewsbury Reporter. to which I replied and received this answer. (Asking him to make a formal application and to send references, and enclosing a synopsis of the terms of the Protector Horse and Carriage Company.) I replied by this letter (Giving two references.) on December 13—I received this letter (Informing him that he had been selected for the situation and enclosing a share application to be filled up.) On 14th December I wrote this letter. (Stating that he would call on Thursday next.) I went up on December 17 and was shown in to the defendant—I did not know his name—he was called the doctor in the office—I told him I had come up to inquire as to the solvency of the Company and the amount of business done, and to hear from him the particulars which had not been written in answer to my letter—he told me the Company was not only solvent but he smiled at the idea of my doubting it—he said it was in the
most flourishing condition possible, and called in the office boy, who brought several books, one of which I examined—it contained a number of policies, and some of them were pretty high—he told me that the district agents brought in 140l. and 150l. a mouth in premiums—I asked for the conditions of the appointment and a form similar to this (produced.) was shown to me—I asked for a copy to take away, because I could not digest it in a few minutes, but he said that they never gave them out of hand, but I might take any notes I required—I called again next day, and the defendant represented the Company as one of the most flourishing, and said that several other Companies were under his direction, he being now the principal man in the Protector Company—I said that the Company not being known anywhere about my part of Yorkshire, probably for a month or two the business might not be as large as I should like, and asked what would be the consequence—he said "The only consequence would be that you would have the inspector more frequently down upon you"—I said "I do not mind that, it would be a help"—I never saw the inspector, and I doubt his existence very much, although Dr. Sayle said that though he was a most illiterate man and dropped his H's and put them in, he assisted them to do a most extraordinary business—he said that the salary was always paid monthly, and mine would be paid on the 1st of every mouth, as I wished, I having other business in London—this is my appointment, it is dated 18th December—I was satisfied with his remarks, and handed him a cheque for 30l. and this application for shares (produced.)—this, "Take T. Brooks' shares," was not on it then—I received a receipt for the 30l. and entered on my duties on January 1—I asked for the scrip certificate and it came some days afterwards—I did my best for the Company—I advertised it, I travelled about, and went to expense, and I got six agents for it—it was part of my business to appoint sub-agents—I afterwards saw in the Hickmansworth Herald. precisely the same advertisement as had appeared in the Dewsbury Reporter. and Hickmansworth is only two miles from my house, and wrote to the Company asking the meaning of it—I got a letter back saying that it should have attention—the advertisement appeared three or four times, and I complained several times—at first they said that they did not know anything about it, but afterwards they admitted that it had been sent—on 5th February I received this letter from Mr. Harry, the secretary. (Stating that substantial business would be accepted by the Board, but that the business done would not justify further payment.) I wrote other letters for my salary, but was never paid a farthing—I received something from the official liquidation in the middle of February.
Cross-examined. I got business 60l. 18s. at one place, 20l. at another, and the premiums of several proposals I had amounted to something like 10l.—the smaller proposals were all accepted, but not the 20l. or the 60l. 18s.—I have not mentioned before to-day that he said that the district managers got 150l. a month—he said that he was a large shareholder in the Company, that the idea was pretty much his own, and he had worked out the whole scheme of it—he did not tell me that the plan was to get people to endeavour to obtain business for the Company by themselves becoming shareholders in it, nor that the people who were to be agents were to be shareholders—the books showed some large premiums monthly—I said on cross-examination "I believed from the
books that the Company was in a flourishing condition, and on that belief I paid the 30l. "
Re-examined. The 60l. and the 20l. premiums were not paid because the people made inquiries as to the Company; the insurers declined to go on because of the bad news they had of the position of the Company—my mind was also influenced by Dr. Sayle showing me some heaps of figures which did not amount to a balance-sheet, but would do so later on—I was also induced to part with my money by the firm manner in which he represented the Company; his assurance alone induced me to do so—the books were not before me 10 minutes.
SIDNEY CADSBORN . I am a clerk in the Joint Stock Registry Office, Somerset House—I produce the file relating to the Protector Carriage and Horse Company—the Company was registered in June, 1884, and there are seven signatories of one share each—I also produce the articles of association; I have got a change of name on November 5th.
Cross-examined. All the formalities are correct—I find Edward Hodgson on the return, for 15 shares—if he took shares on 17th December that would be the soonest return he could make—the last return is 17th January, 1887—I find Cookie's name on the list for 15 shares and also Edward Keen; they are all made after December 15th.
HENRY ALLEN . I am second clerk in the office of County Court Judgments for England and Wales—I proved 33 County Court judgments above 10l. against the Protector Carriage Company—they are all unsatisfied; if they were satisfied they would have that word printed on them—this register is kept under 41 Victoria, c. 54, sec. 6—I have not got the names of the creditors. (The judgments were for. 30l. 0s. 10d., 13l. 0s. 2d., 48l. 12s., and other amounts.)
Cross-examined. If they are paid into Court and a fee of 6d. is paid it is transmitted to us—they are not satisfied in point of law because the law directs that they shall be paid into Court—this 11l. 1s. is still unsatisfied; I have no entry of it, and it is not my business to see whether it has been paid—this 32l. 9s. has certainly not been paid into the County Court—14 clear days are allowed for payment before they are sent to us; people may pay by instalments but we know nothing about it.
MANUEL NEVILL . I am one of the bailiffs of the City of London Court—I produce a warrant dated 20th November, 1886, for 16l. 4s. 8d. in the name of Charles Shuttleboler—I went to the Company's office to execute the warrant on 19th November and made a levy—on 20th November I received this letter: "November 19th.—Dear Sir,—The Company has agreed to sell the furniture to Dr. Sayle; he will be ready to complete the purchase to-morrow.—J.B. Henry, Secretary." I saw the defendant on the Monday, and an inventory was taken by an auctioneer and the goods were sold for 9l. 10s.—they were office furniture, the whole of the furniture in the only room I know of belonging to the Company—if I had known of any other furniture I might have sold it—I have received other warrants which I have executed, 15 between November and March; these are not satisfied—between 5th July and 22nd October, 1886, I executed twelve other warrants, which were all paid.
Cross-examined. No doubt some of those judgments are among the registered judgments of which the last witness spoke—in the case of George Holland for 48l. 12s. the money was not paid to me—the warrant was withdrawn by the Home Court, Newcastle-under-Lyne, and the
warrant against Joseph Holland also—Mr. Beardmore's 11l. 1s. August 12th was paid into Court; Joseph Stothert's 32l. 9s. was paid into Court, and James Crook's also—this warrant, Donald Buchannan for 13l. 2s. 6d. was not withdrawn; the warrant of the City of London Court was satisfied, but there was 2l. to pay to the plaintiffs solicitor which has not been satisfied; I never received the money—I think the warrant of 29th January for 21l. 18s. in the name of Haig was returned to the Home Court.
WALTER CHARLES PETTY . I am clerk to one of the Serjeants at Mace of the Sheriffs of the City of London—I produce a warrant for 36l. 15s. against the Carriage Company—the officer went there the same day, and it was endorsed "Nulla bona. by him on the receipt of this letter. (Dated December. 10th, and stating that the Protector Carriage and Horse Insurance Company had no interest in the matter.)—the officer then withdrew.
Cross-examined. I do not know whether it has been satisfied or not—the judgment debtor is Thomas L. Livesey.
ROBERT ALBERT PLUMB . I am a chartered accountant—I have examined the books of this Company in relation to the balance-sheet of October, 1886 and since that date, and also the whole of their cash transactions—the Company was hoplessly insolvent in November, 1886, and I had not recovered its position on December 18th, it was trading at a loss.
Cross-examined. The amount of premiums from October, 1885, to October, 1886, as shown by the books, is 3,992l. on new policies, but a a fact they did not receive that sum by 593l. 15s. 8d., as policies to that amount were cancelled—by the books the premiums down to October, 1885, were 2,011l., and the policies not carried out, 315l.—the business increased month by month till the end of 1885—in 1885 and 1886 there were renewal policies on the previous year, but I disagree with the balance-sheet, because they ought to have written off a much larger sum, 700l. or 800l. at least; not 20 per cent, of the renewal policies were ever collected—they cancelled more renewals than 216l. 18s. 3d.; but their books are incorrect, there was a larger amount actually cancelled, 800l. or 900l.—I find that they had made in 1885, 1886, claims to about 1, 874l. with the cash paid by the Company and the renewals—the books show payments of commission to agents, 881l. 6s. 8d.—the commission was not actually paid in cash out of that 881l., the balance-sheet shows that 257l. was brought into the liabilities—in 1885-'86 they paid for agents' salaries alone 2, 285l., and then there were Directors' fees, and salaries at head office, and travelling expenses—the expenses in 1885 and 1886 were in a very much larger ratio—I put in the balance-sheet for 1885—the deficiency apparently in getting business from June, 1884 to 1886, was 1,700l., and that was with premiums of about 2, 000l., but in truth it was very much larger—there was a false balance-sheet; the agents' balances are said to be 1,493l. 19s. 7d., but only 20l. has been collected, and the agents were debited, and charged with premiums which there is not the slightest chance of their collecting—that amount corresponds with the amount of premium notes, but there were assets the credit for which the agents had already written for, saying that they could not collect them—an agent named Rigg is said to be a debtor for 74l. on 31st October; he disputed the amount, and refused to do business for them, but they asserted that he had collected it.
Re-examined. I have got the balance-sheet from July, 1884, to October, 1885—they obtain a balance in the liability and asset account, by showing the deficiency on the revenue account of 1,700l. 7s. 6d., which is shown on the asset side of the account—the only cash realised of the agents' balance of 1, 462l. is about 360l.—in the balance-sheet of October, 1886, there is cash in the bank 133l. 1s. 9d., and there was only about 20l. at the bank—by the 1884-85 balance-sheet 813l. was received in premiums up to 31st October, 1885; that was the actual cash available for the purposes of the Company, and the payments were 2,892l.—there was only 813l. to meet claims and expenses, and less in 1886, 730l.
CHARLES FLETCHER RICHARDSON . I am the official liquidator to this Company—the petition was filed on 4th February, 1887, and the order to wind up on 19th February—I produce the two balance-sheets—accounts were kept at the Central Bank of London and the Royal Exchange Bank—on February 5th the balance at the Central Bank of London was 11s. 2d., and at the Royal Exchange Bank on 19th February 1s. 3d.—the defendant Sayle claimed the office furniture and all the furniture at 171, Queen Victoria Street—the available assets were the agents' balances and the claims unpaid for shares—I have only got in 10s. of the agents' balances; 1l. 13s. was also sent to me, but when it was found that the Company was in liquidation it was claimed back—between 500l. and 600l. is outstanding for unpaid calls, but I have received nothing—3,990 shares, I believe, were issued according to the allotment book, over 3,000 of which are held by agents—at the time of the last balance-sheet in 1886 there was, by the banker's book, a nominal balance of about 23l. in the Central Bank of London, but if some cheques which were outstanding had been presented there would have been no balance—there was nothing at the other bank then; they were not doing business there—there was nothing against which cheques could be drawn for a single halfpenny—I have been through the claims under policies for which judgments have been signed so far as I can, but the plaintiffs' names not being registered there was a difficulty—the claim register was, I believe, not properly kept—the Company was not solvent in October, 1885, and it was considerably worse in October, 1886—I agree with what Mr. Plumb has said.
Cross-examined. The books are not kept in the defendant's writing; they are regularly kept so far as the form goes—I am afraid there are errors in the banker's column in the cash-book; it shows a balance in October, 1886, of 133l. 1s. 9d. as apparently in hand—I believe everything passed through the bank—this 4l. 18s. 10d. is petty cash—they treated the cash-book as if it was a bank book, which it is not—the account kept is just a simple cash balance—I find that some of the judgments, which were supposed to be unsatisfied, have actually been paid, but I had no means of checking it till this morning—I see in the cash-book, Proudlove 17l. 11s. 8d., and I find on folio 67 a judgment for that amount, which I should say relates to Proudlove, but I have no knowledge of that. (Entries of judgments for. 24l. 4s. 10d., 45l. 4s. 5d., and other sums, were here read.) The agents who did the business paid themselves.
Re-examined. If an agent got hold of 150l. he deducted his salary—I have received notice of 2,000l. debts, and the assets are only the
unpaid shares, and what we can recover on the unpaid calls, which I am afraid is very little—the usual notice to send in claims to the liquidator has not yet appeared—I mean actual debts which I have received notice of and salaries of agents and some part of it is claims on policies.
ROBERT ALBERT PLUMB . (Re-examined.) I have got an account showing that the defendant has received about 975l. from the formation of the Company—the date of his first receipt is July, 1884, and the last, February, 1887. (A list of cheques ordered to be paid, including managing Director's salary. 20l. 16s. 8d., was here put in.)
Cross-examined. That list is partly for salary, and partly for Directors' fees—the directors' fees were a little over 100l.—of the 975l., 225l. was for fees and 750l. for salaries—the fees to other Directors were 451l.
GUILTY . Sergeant Wright stated that there were. 13 other charges against the defendant, and that hundreds of complaints had been made to the police by persons who had been defrauded by Companies with which he was connected since. 1866.— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
OLD COURT.—Monday, May. 30th. 1887.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. DILL. Prosecuted.
HENRY GRIGGS . (Policeman X.) On 15th April, about 2 a.m., I was on duty in Uxbridge Road, and met the prisoner going towards Acton, with only her skirt and dress-body on—I said "What brought you out at this time of morning?" she said "The house is on fire." I said "How did it happen?" she said "I was in bed; a dark gipsy-looking man came over the back garden wall; he had a large knife in his hand, and tapped at my bedroom window, which was shut, and said through the window, if I did not let him in, he would stab me with it; I got up and let him in, and then took my clothes from off the table, and came out at the front door, leaving it open"—I told her to follow me, but she did not—I then went down to 13, Pitfield Gardens, the house she mentioned, and found the street door half way open; seeing a glare at the back of the house, I knocked two or three times at the street door, and Mr. Perkins came to the front parlour door and I went to the back with him, and saw two separate fires made of rubbish, one on the ground, right against the scullery door, and the other on top of the copper alongside the scullery door—they looked like shavings and rubbish, and there was some sacking—the heaps were about the size of the top of this desk—Doggett brought the prisoner back; I asked her again how it happened, and she gave the same story—I said "Why did not you follow me back?" she said "I was afraid"—I asked her again how it occurred, and she answered to the same effect—when I had got the fire out I went to the station and fetched the Inspector—the prisoner had a fit at the station, and I took her on an ambulance to the infirmary.
By the. COURT. She said the bedroom where she slept; that was the back parlour, she had a little bed on the floor in a corner—I had not time to write down the conversation.
Shepherd's Bush—the prisoner was a servant in my father and mother's employ—on 15th April, about 2 a.m., I was in bed in the front parlour, heard a noise in the passage like the steps of some one running up and down; it was a lightish step, and the person undid the bolts of the door and went out into the street, but the door was not shut, which rather attracted my attention, and in about four or five minutes, just as I was preparing to get up, a policeman came, and I accompanied him to the kitchen, and found it full of smoke, and a fierce blaze was raging in the scullery, which lighted up the place through the glass door which divides the scullery from the kitchen, which was shut, but not fastened; that is not an outer door—the prisoner slept in an iron bedstead in the kitchen; she was not there then—no one was there at first, but afterwards the whole household arrived—the house was perfectly secure.
By the. COURT. The step between the scullery and the kitchen was partly ignited—the copper had not been used for a long time—a bag of shavings was kept in the scullery on the copper lid—the prisoner had not put them there, but some of them had been taken out of the bag and placed on the step, and a sort of bonfire laid—they could not have fallen there, because they were in a sack, screwed round at the mouth—I had walked through the scullery about 9.30 that evening, and there were no shavings there then—the prisoner went to bed at a little before 10, and the rest of the family, I think, were in bed by 11 o'clock, but I cannot say positively about a gentleman who occupied a dressing-room upstairs—the shavings appeared only to have been burning a very short time.
JOHN DOGGETT . (Policeman. 340 J.) On 15th April, about 2.20 a.m., I was at the corner of Finden Road and Cunningham Road, Shepherd's Bush, and saw the prisoner running down Cunningham Road, carrying a bundle; she appeared half dressed, and was crying—I said "Where are you going?" she said "Home"—I said "What are you doing here carrying this bundle at this time of the morning?"—she said "I was awoke by a noise, and saw the place on fire, and a gipsy-looking man threatened to stab me, he having a big knife in his hand; I opened the door and took my clothes and ran out of the house: I told the policeman at the top of the street, who has gone to catch the man who threatened to stab me"; I told her I did not believe what she said, and she would have to go back with me to the house—she implored me not to take her there, and I said I should take her to the station—she then said she would go with me, and I took her to the house, where she was detained till the Inspector arrived.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I said "If you did not do it you must come back with me," then you came back with me.
By the. COURT. I do not know why I did not say that before; these (produced.) are my notes of the conversation; I do not know that I have read them since I wrote them. (The notes did not contain the sentence "If you did not do it you must come back with me".—that was as the child was pleading not to be taken back to the house.
WILLIAM SORDS . (Police Inspector X.) On 15th April, about 3 a.m., I received a communication and arrived at 13, Pitfield Gardens, at 4 o'clock, and found the constable there and Mr. Perkins—I saw the remains of two fires in the scullery—I asked if anyone knew how they occurred, and the prisoner, who was in the kitchen, said "I heard a noise during the
night and pulled the blind aside and saw a man standing outside, having the appearance of a gipsy, with a long knife in his hand; he threatened to stab me if I did not open the door; and on going towards the door I saw apparently a blaze" or "a glare of fire underneath the scullery, and I opened the door and let him in, and picked up my clothes which were on the table and ran out"—I made no note, it was so short I thought I could remember it—what she said was "making a noise at the front door as I opened it"—I told her I did not believe her story and I should take her to the police-station, and she said "I did not do it"—I found no trace of anybody having been in the back garden; there is a small plot of grass in the centre with a border of mould for flowers, and the back door opens on to gravel which ran for six or seven yards from the window to the grass plot, and the mould is about 3 feet wide; I examined it carefully, and there was not a single footmark on it—I took her in custody, and when she was charged at the station she had an epileptic fit.
By the. COURT. During the conversation I said that it would be impossible for her to open the second door, the scullery door, without getting burnt; there are two doors, one from the parlour into the scullery, and one from the scullery into the garden—it was against the front door that the fire was, it goes from the kitchen into the scullery—there were five other people in the house I believe; I saw three gentlemen whose names I have since ascertained—I made no inquiry of them what time they came in or whether they had gone into the scullery, nor did I inquire of any inmate of the house as to what hour those men came in, or whether they had been smoking or getting a light, only of Mr. Perkins—I did not see the lodger upstairs to know him; the inmates were all partly dressed—I do not mean to suggest that that is why I did not make inquiries of them. I received the principal part of my information from Perkins.
The prisoner's statement before the Magistrate. "I do not know who set the place on fire; I did not set it on fire."
Prisoner's Defence. I did not set the house on fire; I know nothing about the fire; I wish to call my father.
WILLIAM HALL .. I am the prisoner's father; I live at 50, Cafner Road, and am a shoemaker—the place is about a quarter of a mile from my house, and she had been in service there a week and a day when this happened—she has had several fits at my house during the time she has been out on bail—she has not been subject to them, but she has had some—she is 13 years old—this was her first place—she has only left school a few weeks—we were living in the country, and we came up here to see if we could do better—she was a very good girl at home—I have not found her vicious or mischievous at all—I was at the prosecutor's house the night pravious with some boots, for a doctor who lives there, and she said she liked the place very much, and I was to make a pair of boots for her, and her brother was to bring them on the Saturday—there was nothing to make me think she wanted to leave her place—I have tried my uttermost to find out whether she did it.
The prisoner. The doctor told my father something.
The witness. The doctor told me that if she did it, she was not in her right state of mind, and was not accountable for her actions.
NOT GUILTY .
MESSRS. MEAD. and. BODKIN. Prosecuted. MR. RODGERS. Defended.
WILLIAM KEARSH . I am a carpenter, of 139, Gray's Inn Road, my premises are at the back—the prisoner and his wife occupied my kitchen, which is about eight yards from my workshop—on 3rd May I heard screaming in the kitchen as of some one in pain or struck; it was "Oh, oh!" in Mrs. Fyfield's voice—I have heard her voice frequently—at the same time I heard the prisoner using foul language, which appeared to be directed at the woman.
Cross-examined. The kitchen is underground. (Pointing to its position on a plan.)—I was on the ground floor and they were in the basement; there was no window or opening from which I could see into their room, but if the kitchen door is open I can hear—there was a staircase between us, and a doorway at the foot of it—I told the Coroner what I have said to-day about the alleged quarrel on the Tuesday—I did not say before the Magistrate "I did not at the Inquest mention the quarrel, because I was told to sit down before I arrived at it"—I signed my deposition—the quarrel was from 4 to 7 o'clock—I heard those expressions "Oh, oh!" between 4 and 5 o'clock, shortly after they entered the house and went down into the kitchen—I heard more than that, I heard the prisoner using extreme language, and at 5 o'clock I heard the remark "Oh, oh!" as if she was hurt, and that was repeated two or three times, and the dog began to howl as if he was struck instead of the woman.
By the. COURT. I mean I believe he struck the dog as well as the woman, and the dog came running up the kitchen stairs—from 5 o'clock till 7 the prisoner was continually expressing himself against his wife, and the dog was barking.
ESTHER ELKINGTON . I live with my husband at 139, Gray's Inn Road, at the top of this house—on this day, about 4 o'clock, I was in the wash-house in the yard and heard the prisoner and his wife come in; they went downstairs and I heard them quarrelling—they had a little boy in their charge, and after the perambulator was wheeled into the yard I heard Mrs. Fyfield scream, and a few minutes after that I heard her shriek; I heard no other voice—I have lived in the house some time, and know that the prisoner and his wife lived on rather disagreeable terms.
Cross-examined. The scream about 4 o'clock was as if somebody was hurt or had had a blow I suppose—it was not the cry of the dog which had been struck—I heard two screams—I could not see anything—I then went up to my own room, three floors above and four floors from the sunk floor—I never saw the prisoner strike his wife, or strike any other person—I did not hear the deceased scream on the Wednesday night—I heard no quarrelling that night—if I had had my door open I might have heard screaming, but I was in bed and the door was shut on account of my two babies.
CHARLES LEE . I am the landlord of 139, Gray's Inn Road—the prisoner and his wife have occupied the basement a year and eight months—on Wednesday, May 4th, about 10 p.m., the prisoner came up and paid me two weeks' rent, and I then went over to the Calthorpe Arms and had a glass of drink with him—after we had been there a little time the deceased joined us, and she had two or three glasses of ale; she seemed rather heavy when she got there, as if she had had a glass before—the
prisoner had three half-quarterns of hot rum—we all left and went home, and when we got to the street-door the prisoner told his wife to go and fetch a sovereign out of the kitchen as he had to pay a debt at Mr. Finch's, at the Old King's Arms; he is the landlord—that is in Gray's Inn Lane, three or four minutes' walk from the Calthorpe Arms—the deceased had the remains of a black eye, which was done about three weeks before—I sleep in the parlour—I heard the prisoner and his wife come in about 12.20 or 12.30—the parlour partially overlaps the kitchen—they came in quietly and went downstairs to their room—next morning, about five minutes to 9 o'clock, I heard the prisoner come upstairs; he knocked at my door and said, "I think that woman is dead. Mr. Lee come down and see"—he had on a pair of corduroy trousers, a flannel shirt, and no coat; he was not in his bare feet, but I cannot say whether he had any boots on—I went downstairs, opened the door, looked in, and saw Mrs. Fyfield lying on the floor between the bed and the fireplace; her head was, I think, slightly raised, but I did not go sufficiently near to see what with—the fender was in its usual position, I believe, and all the furniture as usual—I left the prisoner there and went for Dr. Smith—I had heard no noise in the basement that night—the prisoner and his wife seemed always on pretty fair terms.
Cross-examined. My room is over their room—I was in bed when they came in; I heard no screaming or quarrelling whatever; I don't think I was awake for any time afterwards—I have never seen the prisoner lift his hand to the deceased, but I saw scratches on her face on this morning, and I have seen her several times with black eyes—she was in the habit occasionally of taking a good drop of liquor, and she was unsteady in her walk sometimes—I did not hear the dog bark on this night.
Re-examined. I have been down into the prisoner's room twice in consequence of noises I heard there; one was two months before Christmas, and two months before that, but not this year—I was in bed and heard quarrelling, and had to get up and go down—I have not heard it stated in the prisoner's presence how the deceased got the black eyes.
ARTHUR WILLIAM MIDDLETON . I am barman at the Calthorpe Arms, I know the prisoner and his wife as customers—on 4th May the prisoner and Mr. Lee came in first about 11 o'clock, the deceased came in afterwards; she was sober, and so was the prisoner—I did not notice the deceased's face—they left about 11.20 or 11.30.
Cross-examined. I saw no quarrel between them; she did not walk like a person in pain, it was a brisk step, as usual, when she came in and went out.
JOSEPH FITCH . I keep the Old King's Arms, Gray's Inn Road—on 4th May, about midnight, or the morning of the 5th, the prisoner and his wife came in together; my house is between Wilson street and Elm Street; he had some warm rum and she had some mild and bitter; they were there five minutes, I should think; she was suffering from a black eye and a cut under it, which did not appear to be fresh; she was perfectly sober, the prisoner was not drunk, but he was very talkative; I knew them as customers, they appeared on very friendly terms.
Cross-examined. I did not sell him any gin in a bottle to take away.
LUCY CHILVERS . I keep the Blue Lion, Gray's Inn Road, and know the prisoner and his wife as occasional customers—coming to my house from the Old King's Arms a person would pass Wilson Street—on the morning of May 5th, about 12.20, they came in together and had a little
rum, they both drank of it—I keep open till 12.30—it did not strike me that they were the worse for drink—they stayed about five minutes; the deceased had a very bad black eye, which I had noticed for three or four weeks—I did not notice a cut under it—they went away together; she was very quiet and she walked well.
CHARLES THOMAS OFFORD . I am potman at the Blue Lion—I saw the prisoner and his wife there on 5th May about 12.20; as they were leaving he said to her "Why the f—hell don't you go the other side?"—I don't know what led him to say that but she was slightly intoxicated, and staggered against the partition in the bar; they went out—that was all that occurred; I did not serve either of them with any gin, nor did I see any one else do so; I did not see any gin in their possession—the deceased opened the door, which requires a 9-or 10-lb. pull—Inspector Anson tested it in my presence.
Cross-examined. The prisoner was sober, as far as I can say.
MARIA TILBURY . I am married, and occupy the second floor at 139, Gray's Inn Road—I heard no disturbance on Wednesday night, May 4th, but on Thursday morning, the 5th, I was going downstairs, and the prisoner was at the door—I did not notice whether he had boots on—he asked who I was—I told him, and he said "Will you come down, Mrs. Tilbury, and see my wife? I am afraid she is dead"—I went down with her; no one else was down there; I saw the deceased lying on the floor, between the bed and the fireplace—I did not notice whether anything was under her head—there was a bruise under her chin and down her face—I said "What are those marks on her face?" he said "That is where she has been knocking herself about"—I went and told Mr. Fox, a lodger on the first floor.
Cross-examined. I have seen the deceased once or twice when she has had a little drop of drink, and I have heard her scream out once or twice when I could not see her.
Re-examined. I heard screams a week or a fortnight before her death; they were then both in the kitchen, I believe.
SIMON FOX . I am a cab driver—on 5th May I lived at 139, Calthorpe Road, and about 9 o'clock that morning Mrs. Tilbury said to me "Mr. Fox, the blind man has done it this time," and I went into the kitchen and saw the prisoner there—I did not notice what he had on his feet—I should say that he and his wife lived on very sociable terms—I saw the woman's body, and said "I shall go and fetch a constable, because the woman looks as if she has been ill-used"—he said "What has that to do with you; who are you?"—I said "I am the cab driver"—I informed Cooper.
JOHN WRIGHT . I am relieving officer for St. Pancras—on 5th May, about 9 o'clock, Lee gave me information, and I communicated with Mr. L. Smith, the parish surgeon, and went with him to the house, and saw the deceased—there were marks on her face, and I asked the prisoner how they came there—he said "I woke up at 3 o'clock in the morning, and she was blundering about the room—I wanted her to come to bed"—the body was then taken to the mortuary.
WILLIAM HOOPER . (Policeman E. 223). On 5th May, about 9.15, Fox spoke to me in Guildford Street, and I went with him to 139, Gray's Inn Road, and saw the deceased in the basement, lying on the floor between the bedstead and the fireplace—her head was against the wall, resting
on a pillow, and her feet towards the window—she was covered with a woollen shawl, and only had a short black bodice on and a pair of grey stockings, no shift or anything—the prisoner was sitting on the side of the bed; he had on a pair of lace-up boots, but they were not laced, and a coat and trousers—I said to him "How do you account for her having that black eye and bruise across the chin?"—he said "I am sure I do not know, policeman, unless she got it by falling about; we went out together last evening and had a glass or two, and came home about a quarter-past twelve; I then undressed and went to bed, leaving my wife sitting on a chair; I said 'Ann, why don't you come to bed?' she replied 'All right, Jack;' I then went to sleep again, and woke up about a quarter-past 7; I called to her, but getting no answer, I got out of bed, and commenced to feel about, and I discovered that she was dead and cold; I then went upstairs to Mr. Lee, the landlord, and told him, and he went for a doctor"—I found on the mantelshelf a small bottle containing laudanum and a bottle and glass on the window sill—the bottle contained nothing—I smelt it, and it bad contained gin, and there was a very small quantity of gin in the glass—the prisoner said "When we came home last night she brought home a bottle of gin with her at a quarter-past 12"—the fender was in its proper place, and nothing appeared to be disarranged.
Cross-examined. I saw no female apparel in the room except what the deceased had on—I do not know whether it was a wooden or a stone floor.
By the. COURT. I made this note (produced.) at the time at the foot of the stairs in the passage, on a level with the street door, and made a copy in case the other should get lost—I went upstairs from the basement, and wrote it from my recollection—it took me 10 minutes or a quarter of an hour to write it, standing in the passage—the prisoner was quite sober—I know nothing against him.
ALFRED HANSON . (Police Inspector E.) I was called from Hunter Street Police-station about a quarter to 10 o'clock, and on going into the room I saw the prisoner—I did not make these notes till the Saturday, when I found the gravity of the case—I said to him "Can you give any account of this?"—he said "We were out drinking last night; she lowered. three half-pints over the way; I asked her not to have any more; we got home all right; we took home a quartern of gin with us; I asked her to go to bed; she said she would sit in a chair, and she did so; I went to bed, and woke about 3 o'clock; she was still sitting in the chair; I asked her to get into bed; she said that she would lie on the floor, and she did so; I woke again about 7 or half-past, and called to her; she made no answer; I felt all round for her, and found her on the floor, and I found that her face was very cold; I felt further, and found she had dirtied herself, and I put my hands in it; I then thought she was dead, and called the lodgers"—I said "Can you account for the mark under her chin?"—he said "She must have done it by the fender"—I do not remember his saying anything about the bottle in the night—after hearing the doctor's report as to the post-mortem, I directed the prisoner to be taken in custody, and I followed him to Hunter Street Station—I said to him "You will be charged on suspicion of causing the death of your wife, Ann Fyfield, at 139, Gray's Inn Road, yesterday morning?"—he said "She must have knocked herself about
by the fender"—when the charge was read over to him he said "Why was it I was not brought here yesterday?"—I said "I was not satisfied"—he was about being removed from the dock, and said in a low tone "I am dissipated and a drunkard, but I can't help that"—I made notes of his statements.
Cross-examined. I believe the floor of his room is wood—I think there is a possibility of my mistaking what he said at the station, because it was said in a low tone—my impression is that he said "I am. dissipated," and not "She was," but there was some noise going on.
By the. COURT. The prisoner is blind—I made no inquiry how it was that when he awoke he could see his wife sitting in a chair; it struck me as rather odd, but there was no one to inquire of—this is the fender (produced.)
FRANCIS HUSTEAD . (Police Inspector E.) I produce two plans of the room and premises, 139, Gray's Inn Road—they are correct, and drawn to scale—one is of the basement and ground floor, and the other of the neighbourhood—I went into the prisoner's room to measure it—it has a wooden floor, with a stove in front of the fireplace—the room is 3 yards 6 inches wide—the bed is rather more than 4 1/2 feet wide—the edge of the bed was less than a yard and a half from the wall, and that would leave 4 feet 3 inches between the bed and the fireplace—the hearthstone is about 15 inches deep; I did not measure it—the room was very dark.
Cross-examined. I did not measure the jambs of the fireplace; they are very small.
Re-examined. The hearthstone which projects was not covered by the fender, there were a few inches beyond it when I saw it—the fender is about 8 inches wide.
CHARLES LEE . (Re-examined by. MR. RODGERS. The flooring of the room is wood, with a hearthstone in front of the fireplace between it and the bedstead, and on the hearthstone stood this fender—the bed was about a yard and a half from the wall, the fireplace would not be quite so much.
SIDNEY LLOYD SMITH . M.R.C.S. I am medical officer of St. Pancras—on 5th May, about 9 a.m., I was called to 139, Gray's Inn Road, and saw a woman on the floor dead—I should say she had been dead three or four hours—there were several recent bruises about different parts of her face, and the remains of a black eye, which was not recent; by recent I mean within a few hours—there was an abrasion of the skin, an abrasion at the end of the nose, a scratch by the side of the nose, a bruise on the left cheek, a bruise on the left temple, and a bruise on the upper lip, with the flesh lacerated—the lower lip had a mark, but I think that was an old ulceration—all those could have been inflicted by her tumbling about in the room, except the upper lip, I am doubtful about that, and the scratch on the nose I do not think could be self-inflicted—I examined the pupils to see whether they were dilated, to see if there were evidences of poison—next day I made another examination with Dr. Smith, and found nine ribs broken on the left side; the second rib was broken in three places, and the third in two places, the fourth, fifth, and sixth in one place, the seventh in two places, and the eighth, ninth, and tenth in one place; the third, fourth, and fifth were torn from their cartilages—on the right side eight ribs were broken, one fracture each, and the chest-bone was broken between the first and second ribs—there was no
connection between the death and the other organs—there was an abrasion in front of one leg, it might be called scratches, and we then saw that the lobe of the left ear was lacerated—I think she died from shock to the system produced by those injuries—I found no external marks of violence on the chest, corresponding with the fractures; the only marks of violence we saw were on the face—the fractures had been effected by force applied to the chest-bone; that would fracture all the ribs and would make them break outwards—I do not think they could have been self-inflicted; she might have done it herself if there had been only one or two ribs broken, but not with 17—I do not think she could have walked from the public-house, or walked at all, with her ribs broken in that way—some of them might have been caused by a man standing on her chest, without boots, and jumping on her, but not all, unless it was repeated—repeated jumps time after time might account for it, or a man kneeling with force on her chest might have done it, but that would require to be repeated—if the prisoner was insensibly drunk during the night, and repeatedly fell upon her, that would account for it, but he would have to fall in a certain way, not on the same spot, but very nearly so; if he fell flat on the body I do not think it would have produced it—I think there must have been some kind of prominence—when I say self-inflicted, I mean by the woman falling about—I saw the prisoner when I went to the house, and asked him when he found her—I did not notice any appearance of his having been intoxicated during the night.
Cross-examined. What I have been telling the Court is my opinion, I have known people have their ribs broken by falling on their ribs—I know Gray's Inn Road, it has a stone causeway pavement; a person falling upon it might break a rib or two, but if she fell a few times it would be rather unusual to break a rib each time she fell—I do not think she would break her ribs if she fell on her breast, but if she fell on her ribs she might break them at the point of striking—I do not think if she fell on her face she would be likely to break her ribs, not unless she caught on the edge of the pavement—this (produced.) is a correct representation of the human body, showing the ribs—a drunken woman tumbling about on the edge of the pavement, might break a rib now and again—her age was about 58, when the ribs are certainly brittle—I do not think they would be more brittle if the person was fond of liquor; I do not think drunkenness would affect the bones much, but the ribs of a person of 58 are very readily broken—she would certainly have felt the breaking of her ribs—persons have gone about for days with broken ribs not knowing it, but it would give pain; you can tell within a few hours or a day, when ribs are broken—these ribs were broken within a few hours in my opinion; the examination took place on the evening of the next day, and I should say that the ribs had been broken a few hours before death—I do not think she could have done all this injury by falling about in the night—I think the old man (The prisoner.) could have stood on her body if she were lying on the floor; I do not say that he could have broken all these ribs by treading on her, but by jumping or kneeling—there was not the slightest mark of injury from kneeling, kneeling would not put the marks on her face nor the scratches on her legs—I did not suggest kneeling on her body, it was suggested to me—if the prisoner got up in the night and blindly stepped
on her, and fell upon her it might have produced a large number of the fractures, but I do not think it would have produced them all—if he had fallen on her and in endeavouring to get up had fallen again, that might have caused the sequence of fractures, that is, the row of fractures, but I do not think it would have broken the bones in two or three places—I saw him about 9.30 a.m., he was then quite rational and sober as far as I could judge.
Re-examined. Supposing the injuries had been caused by the woman falling and tumbling about, I think it would be necessary that she should fall on some projection; I cannot tell you what projections there were in the room, I saw the fender and a couple of chairs—if she fell on a chair it would not produce all these injuries—there were no bruises on the chest, only on the face—there was no external injury on the chest, there might not have been marks if she was jumped upon; you may have excessive internal injuries without any outside appearances, the clothes would act as a sort of cushion—if you could see the bare chest afterwards you would see a red mark, but it would disappear soon—if she fell on the fender I should expect to find a bruise and a different kind of fracture, by a direct blow the ribs would have been driven inwards, in falling in the street I should expect to find bruises.
By the. JURY. The injury to the lobe of the ear might have been done by a fall or by other means. (A chair with a broken back was here produced.—she would not fall far if she fell off that chair.
JOHN BLAND SUTTON . F.R.C.S. I am assistant surgeon at the Middlesex Hospital—I was present at this post-mortem examination with Dr. Smith—I agree with him as to the number and extent of the fractures of the ribs, and also as to his enumeration of the external injuries—the organs were perfectly healthy—the cause of death was shock to the system resulting from the injuries which were caused by force to the breastbone—I have heard Dr. Smith's opinion to-day and agree with him.
GEORGE DANFORD THOMAS . M.D. I am Coroner for Central Middlesex—on 7th May I held an inquest on the deceased, and it was adjourned to Saturday the 14th—the prisoner was examined on the 7th—I took down what he said; I duly cautioned him that what I had stated to me was optional on his part, and I should take it down in writing, and it might be used for or against him in any Court—he was then sworn, and made a statement, which I took down; this (produced.) is a copy of my notes, they were read over to him—he was remanded by the Magistrate in the morning, who permitted him to come to my Court in the afternoon, and he did come—he saw this document, he was allowed to do so by the constable in charge, who is my special officer; he is here. (The witness then read the notes of the prisoner's evidence, in which he stated that he and his wife had been drinking together, and as she was the worse for liquor, she fell as they were crossing Gray's Inn Lane, and that she was got up with assistance, that they went home, and she refused to go to bed, but that he went to bed and went to sleep, and he heard the clock strike three, and heard her tumbling about the room, and then as he could not hear her, he asked her to get into bed, and receiving no answer, he felt about the room for her and found her on the floor, and put a pillow under her head and left her there, and went to bed again, as he had done on previous occasions; that he got up again at. 7 o'clock and found the furniture turned topsy turvey, but that he did not remember either falling or sitting upon her.)
Witness for the Defence.
ELIZABETH HUNTLEY . I am the wife of Richard Huntley, and am the foster-daughter of the prisoner; he and his wife always lived on the best of terms, as far as I saw, but I very seldom went to their house—I never saw him strike her, nor heard him threaten to do so—he has never struck me, unless when I was too young to know it—he has a dog which goes about with him; he was kind to his dog, as far as I am aware of, which was very well fed—I was with them the day before her death, Wednesday—to the best of my recollection, they were on the best of terms—I do not know much about the deceased, I did not very often visit her, but I have heard that she was given to drink—I lived in the house from my infancy, my parents took me away, but I went back after two years, when the prisoner was blind—he was a kind-hearted old man, and I always knew him to speak very kindly of her.
Cross-examined by. MR. MEAD. I was at the house between 3 and 4 o'clock that afternoon.
GUILTY. of Manslaughter.— Eighteen Months' Hard Labour.
MR. ARTHUR GILL. Prosecuted. MR. KEITH FRITH. Defended.
ELIZABETH HILL . I am a widow, of 53, Beresford Street. Woolwich—I am a dressmaker—on 23rd April I went out to get groceries and 2l. in postal orders to send to the Charing Cross Bank—I went into the Distillery to get a glass of beer—Davey said "Good morning, let me pay for it"—I said "No, I can pay for it myself"—he said he knew me before—I said "You have made a grand mistake"—he got into further conversation—he said he wanted a wife, and I was the only woman he liked, and Woolwich was a bad place—I said I could not stay to answer him then—he said his intentions were honourable, and that he worked inside the Arsenal, and was earning 50s. a week, and that he would make me a comfortable home if I would accept it; that he had two furnished rooms, and he asked me to go and see them—I told him I could not stop, but must go to the post-office, and I went; he walked with me, and saw me take out the two orders—ho said "Excuse me, young lady. I would take that watch from my bosom and put it in my pocket, there are bad people about Woolwich, they could take the watch in an instant"—I took the watch out and put it in my pocket—I went with him to the Carpenter's Arms; I had not been in Woolwich for three weeks, and I knew no one there; I went out, he gave me a glass of beer, and I felt silly; he told me his name was Rastall—he said he would come back again—when I went to his rooms he spoke to a man in the passage—he took me to a room where there was a piano—I said "You have a piano"—he said "Yes, can you play it?"—I said "Yes"—he sat beside me—he said he wished to have an interview with me, and he gave me a glass of beer—I remained there not more than ten minutes—he said he would marry me by special licence on the Monday—he
tried to take liberties with me; I told him if he wanted to get married he could wait—he said he was going out to get 2l. to buy me a ring, but he never returned—I afterwards missed my purse, bunch of keys, and my watch was gone from my pocket—I went to the police-station and told Mr. Alexander about it—I had about 12s. 6d. in my purse and a coin with the figure "5" on it, like a sixpence—this is the coin and purse—7s. was in it when returned.
Cross-examined. I came from Exeter, a garrison town—I was living with a Devonshire woman at 53, Beresford Street—I have worked as a dressmaker for Eliza King and Harriet King, also for Major Wood, at Abbey Wood, for three weeks—I did not know the name of the street I met Davey, but I have since learned it was Eyre Street—he spoke first—I was indignant at being addressed by a stranger—I did not go away because he pressed me to stay, and he said he knew me before, although I was indignant—I said "I have business to attend to, I cannot talk to you now"—that did not mean I would not talk to him at all—he said "I have a comfortable home, and will make you a good husband"—he said he would go with me to the post-office, as I had said I had business to attend to there—he walked just behind me, and came and stood beside me in the post-office while I signed—I did not complain of his molesting me—I was indignant—I went with him into the Carpenter's Arms, after some persuasion, to wait for him—he asked me to wait ten minutes while he went out; I did so—he paid for the beer when he came back, and said he would show me his rooms—I thought that was rather extraordinary, and said I did not wish to see his rooms, I had a room of my own—he did not take me by force, after some consideration I went—he said some female was there, I asked him that—I did not know then he was taking me to a coffee tavern, he said it was his rooms—I had not too much to drink—we entered through a side door and through a passage—it was not far from where I lived—I had not passed down that street before—there was no sofa in the room—I cannot say if there was a bed, I do not think so—I will not swear there was not—I was doing nothing—I tried the piano, it was broken—I was talking to the prisoner—do you suppose there was a bed?—I did not swear I was there half an hour—before the Magistrate I said I should think, I would not swear—when the prisoner said he would marry me on Monday by special licence I said there were two to talk about that—he left me in the room—I waited some time for him, not many minutes—I believed he was coming back, I know he said so—I did not wait after I found my things were gone—a man came to the room door with the beer—I have not been with the prisoner to any other place—I did not slap his face nor play with him—I never kissed such a face—he asked me if I lived at Abbey Wood, I said "No," but I had lived there—I had told him I had lived there—I did not say "You had better go to a room and have a sleep"—I did not ask for refreshments—the prisoner took the beer in from the man at the room-door—I did not take off my jacket—I asked him what sort of a house it was we were going to, he said it was a most respectable place—I took off my watch and chain and my purse out—I did not ask him to take care of them, I am capable of taking care of my own property—I believed the rooms I went to were his—I did not take off my hat—nothing was said about connection—he wanted to take liberties with me and I said "No" then I waited for him, because he asked me to forgive him and said he
was sorry for what he had said—what do you think I am if not respectable?—he put something in the beer; do you think if I was in my right senses I should have remained there?—I said "If you make me a comfortable home you must wait"—I asked him what he thought I was, and said "If you wish to marry me you must wait"—he may have paid for the room—I have heard since the house was a brothel.
Re-examined. We did not go in through the shop but through a long passage—I did not entrust the articles to the prisoner.
HENRY ROLTON . I live at 8, Coleman Street, Woolwich—I work in the Arsenal—On 23rd April, in Eyre Street, Woolwich, I saw the prisoner when in charge of a constable drop a watch and chain—I picked it up and gave it to the constable—this is the watch—he had had a little drop.
FREDERICK ALEXANDER . (Detective R.) I received instructions from the prosecutor on 23rd April—I made inquiries and shortly alter 9 o'clock I saw the prisoner in the Carpenter's Arms—I called him outside and told him I should take him into custody and charge him with stealing a watch and chain, a purse, and about 12s. in money, and a bunch of keys, from a woman at Roger's Coffee-house, High Street, Woolwich—he said "I have robbed no one, I was not with a woman there"—I then took him to the Police-station at Woolwich—on the way something was told me, and when I got there this watch was handed me by Rolton—I searched the prisoner and found this purse, 4s. 6d. in silver, 1 1/2 d. bronze, the small coin, postage stamps, and bunch of keys—he said they were his property—I then fetched the prosecutrix to the station, and in her presence he said he had not seen her before—when charged he told the Inspector he had been to this place with the woman and the things were handed to him—he was the worse for drink—the coffee-shop is about 200 yards from the Carpenter's Arms—the prosecutrix appeared drugged, somewhat stupid.
Cross-examined. She did not appear to be drunk—I received information about 1 o'clock—I found the prisoner about 9 o'clock about 100 yards from where he lived—he was recovering from the effects of drink—the prisoner has been employed at the Woolwich Arsenal many years—he has always borne the character of an honest man.
The Prisoner's statement before the Magistrate. "A number of lies have been told by the woman—she gave me the things and told me to take them with me and bring them back when I came, so as they should not be stolen; she was intoxicated, and so I was myself, rather worse than she; not knowing this locality, and meeting friends whom I drank with, I did not go back, but intended to give her the things back."
NOT GUILTY .
MR. BURNIE. Prosecuted.
SUSANNAH MARTIN . I am a hairdresser, of 4, Wellington Street, Woolwich—I am single—on Saturday, 14th May, about 11 p.m., I closed my premises and went to bed—about 2 a.m. I was aroused by a noise—a few minutes afterwards I got a light and went towards the front room—I saw a soldier, the prisoner—before I saw him I thought it was the cat
in the room, and I said "What are you doing here?"—shortly afterwards I heard the front-room door bang—I went to the room; I missed two pictures from the wall; I saw the broken frames lying on the floor; a small cardboard box was removed from the table; I missed a brooch, a pair of ear-rings, a box, two frames, three photographs, and 5s. 8d.—I afterwards found the contents of the box on the floor—the prisoner would pass the room door to get downstairs—about 8 a.m. I found the soldier's belt in the garden and this little fancy box (produced.)—on the Sunday morning I picked the prisoner out from other men—I have identified two picture frames, a photograph, and a cigar ash tray as things missed from the front room.
HENRY SELVER . (Police Inspector R.) About 11 a.m. on Sunday, 15th May, I saw the prisoner in the camp at Shooter's Hill—I told him a shop had been broken into at Woolwich and things had been stolen, and a belt of his had been found on the premises—he said "I have lost my belt and my cap, but I know nothing about the burglary; I was back in the barracks at 12 o'clock"—I said "Where have you been this morning?"—he said "I have been asleep"—I said "Have you been abed?"—he said "Yes"—I said "I wish to see the bed you slept upon"—going in the room I found a portion of the photograph frames lying on the bed and on the shelves, the two frames produced, and the ash tray and other remnants of frames which were subsequently identified by Miss Martin—I brought the prisoner to the station; he was placed with others and identified by the prosecutrix—I examined the premises and found he had scaled a wall 7 feet high, from there he would get along the garden, pass through the lower portion of the house through two kitchens, up a flight of steps, and pass some premises into the shop; he had to open a door.
GUILTY .— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
MR. JONES LEWIS. Prosecuted.
JAMES HITCHCOCK . I work for Mr. Pym, metal dealer, of 109, Church Street, Deptford—about nine p.m. on 10th May I was outside the shop—it was closed—I saw the prisoner come out of the shop door, looking pretty bulky—I ran after him, caught him, and took him back to the shop—he threw these taps all over the place—I said "Don't do that, put them on the chair"—there were 17 of different kinds—these are some of them (produced.)
RICHARD PYM . I live at 9 and 11, Tanner's Hill, Deptford—I am a metal merchant—Hitchcock works for me—he brought the prisoner to my shop—he was bustling him about and saying "What have you got here?" and "What right had you to come out of that shop?"—these 17 taps fell from him.
Cross-examined by the prisoner. You never asked me if I bought old brass—I never saw you before.
ALFRED DAY . (Policeman R R. 18.) I took the prisoner into custody about nine p.m. on the 10th inst.—I charged him with stealing these taps—he said he bought them at a private house at Bromley, and took them to the prosecutor to sell.
The prisoner handed in a long written statement to the effect that he was a marine store dealer, and had bought the taps at Bromley and taken them to the prosecutor to sell.
MR. BURNIE. Prosecuted.
HENRY DUDMAN . I am a pipe manufacturer, of 71, Bloomfield Road, Plumstead—on 9th March a man, not the prisoner, hired my horse, set of harness, and wagonette—I sent the man with it to 4, Anglesea Hill, Plumstead—they were not returned—I did not see the man again—I gave information to the police—on 17th March I went to Dalston, and saw the horse and wagonette there at 131, Holloway Road.
EDWARD BURTON . I work for Mr. Dudman, and live at 68, Frederick Place, Plumstead—I took the horse and wagonette on 9th March to 4, Anglesea Hill—I saw the prisoner—he gave a man the trap, and the prisoner and the other man got up and drove away—when I came back from having a glass of ale I saw them go—they had hired it.
THOMAS ROBINSON . I am a van and cart builder, of 131, Holloway Road—on 10th March the prisoner and another man came to me about a wagonette—the other man sold me the wagonette for 2l.—the prisoner was outside during the bargain—the prosecutor afterwards came and identified it.
EDWIN JAMES MATTHEWS . I am a wheelwright, of 56, Hertford Road, Kingsland—on 11th March the prisoner and another man came and asked me to buy a horse—both took part in the sale—they said it belonged to a Jew in the Downham Road, and gave me an address—I gave them two guineas for it—I had no receipt—I sold the horse to my neighbour for three sovereigns.
FRANCIS SHANE . (Metropolitan Policeman.) I had the prisoner in custody on another charge when I charged him with this offence on 11th May—he said his brother told him he was engaged by an auctioneer at Woolwich to sell it.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate alleged that he was employed by a gentleman to sell the wagonette, and had not seen him since.
He also. PLEADED GUILTY. to a conviction at Clerkenwell Police-court in April. 1887.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
GUILTY .— Four Months' Imprisonment.
652. CATHERINE SMITH. (51) [Pleaded guilty: see original trial image] to stealing four yards of flannel, the goods of John Eddy, after a conviction of felony in December, 1886, at this Court.*— Nine Months' Hard Labour.
MR. H. AVORY. Prosecuted. MR. LOCKWOOD. Q.C., Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
MR. WILKINSON. Prosecuted. MR. HOPKINS. Defended.
----NORMAN. I live at 116, Plumstead Road. Woolwich; I am 14 years old, and I work at Mr. Fifield's, linen draper—on 21st March I was on Church Hill, Woolwich, between 8 and 9 p.m., when the prisoner asked me to go and fetch him half-a-pound of Dutch cheese, pointing up the hill where Mr. Webb's shop was in sight—he gave me a half-a-crown—I went to Mrs. Webb's and asked for the cheese, and gave her the half-crown—she gave me the cheese and a shilling, two sixpences and three coppers I fancy, which I gave the prisoner, who had come nearer, opposite to Mrs. Webb's shop—I next saw him five weeks alter at the police-station, where I picked him out from about eight other men, as the man who gave me the money on that day.
Cross-examined. The first time I saw the prisoner was when he sent me in the shop—it was on a Saturday—I can't say the day of the month—it was in April I am sure—I guessed it was five weeks after that I went to the station—I had not seen him in the interval—it took about two or three minutes for me to go and get the cheese and come out again—it was a young man about 17 who sent me for it—the men the prisoner was put among to be identified were older than you, except one who was 14 or 15—I found it perfectly easy to pick him out—after I had had one look the sergeant said "Don't be frightened, but look at them well"—the prisoner was at the end—I don't know how the police got to know about me; he came to me on Saturday evening and said "Are you the young man at Fifield's"—I said "Yes"—he asked me whether I was the lad who took the half-crown into Mrs. Webb's—I said "Yes"—he told me I had to go up to the Court next Saturday and I went—he asked me whether I could pick him out; I said I could, and they asked me if I was sharp—it was pretty dark.
Re-examined. The lamps were alight in the street; Mrs. Webb had no lamps outside her shop—I had a parcel with me which had my master's name on it "Fifield"—this was in March I think.
EMILY WEBB . I keep a grocer's shop at 71, Church Street, Woolwich—on Saturday, 26th March, Norman came in and purchased some cheese at 6d. a lb. and gave me a half-crown—I gave him 2s. 3d. change—I did not notice whether the half-crown was good or bad, but only that it was an old one—I laid it by the side of the till on the bowl—I had only two other half-crowns at the time—the two others, one, a good one, I received from a neighbour, and the other, a bad one, I had from another lad about a quarter of an hour previously for two penny eggs; those two half-crowns were in the till—I took the half-crown Norman gave me to his master immediately—I had noticed the name on the parcel he was carrying—on 9th April I was in my shop, when the prisoner came in for
three eggs and threw a half-crown behind the scale—I had to put my hand round to draw it round and I felt it was bad, as it was very smooth—I did not try it—I said to a woman in the shop "Close the door and stop him"—he pushed her very roughly aside, knocking her almost into the street, and ran away as hard as he could—I ran out and cried "Stop thief," but no one stopped him—I kept the coin he gave me—on the Monday week I next saw him in the yard of the police-station—he was with eight others, I knew him at once—I gave the half-crown I had from Norman and that I received on the 9th to Sergeant Ralph—these are they—this is the half-crown I received from the other boy.
Cross-examined. I did not see the prisoner on the 26th—it was twenty minutes or half-past 11 p.m. on 9th April when he came in—I had my suspicions of him having had bad money and I served him at once—directly I took it I examined it, and said to the customer stop him, and he was off in a minute—all the other men he was with at the station were a great deal older than himself—I do not think he was at the end of the row, I cannot recollect whether he was first, second, or third—I had no occasion to look at the other prisoners, I recognised him at once—I did not know I was going to pick him out when I went there on the Monday—the detective came and said they had got a young man charged for passing a bad two-shilling piece, and would I come and see if I could recognise him—I was quite positive about him—one of these coins is dated 1836 and the other 1834—the one of 9th April is 1834.
ELIZABETH PEARCE . I live at 75, Plumstead Road, Woolwich, and am assistant to Mr. Stone, a draper there—on 16th April the prisoner came in, about 10 or 11 p.m., for some socks, price 2 3/4 d.—I served him, and he gave me a florin, which I put in the tester; it bent—I said "It is a bad one"—I do not remember his saving anything—Mr. Stone came in, and I handed the coin to him—this is it.
Cross-examined. The prisoner remained in the shop; he had no time to get out after I said the coin was bad because Mr. Stone came in directly and closed the door—I asked the prisoner his name and address; he refused to give it—he sat down and quietly waited; he did not try to push by any one—he gave no account; he was not asked by Mr. Stone how he came by it; the officer asked him—I gave him no change.
Re-examined. I saw Mr. Stone last evening; he is too ill at present to attend properly to his business and to be here as a witness; he is not in bed, he is ordered to walk every day.
ALFRED RALPH . (Police Sergeant R. 13). I was at the police-court when the prisoner was before the Magistrate—John Stone gave his evidence there, and the prisoner had an opportunity of cross-examining him then. (The deposition of John Stone was read as follows. "I live at 75, Plumstead Road, and am a draper. On Saturday night the last witness called my attention to the prisoner, and handed me a bad florin. I asked the prisoner for his name and address, which he refused. I sent for a constable, and detained the prisoner until he came. I handed the florin to the constable.") On this Saturday, about 20 minutes past 10 p.m., I was sent for to this shop, where I found the prisoner detained—Mr. Stone was standing in front of the door, which was shut—the prisoner was sitting on a chair—Mr. Stone said he had asked for the prisoner's name and address, and he had refused to give it, and that he had brought in a bad two-shilling piece—the prisoner said nothing—Mr. Stone said he
would give him into custody—I searched him in the shop, and found 2d. bronze and a railway ticket from Hoxton on him—the prisoner said "I have only been in town about two minutes, I came to enjoy myself, the 2s. I got from my master"—he did not tell me at the time where he had come from—I received this coin from Mr. Stone—I took him to the station—on the way he said "I suppose I shall have to suffer for other people"—I did not state that at the Court below—at the station, where the charge of uttering to Mr. Stone was read to him, he made no reply—he was asked his address, and gave it correctly as 82, Britannia Street, Hoxton—afterwards on the remand he was charged with the other offences—I received these three half-crowns from Mrs. Webb—I gave the ticket back to the prisoner, as I thought it did not concern the charge.
Cross-examined. I believe the ticket was really from Bishopsgate Street—I could not swear whether it was from Liverpool Street to Woolwich—I found 2d. on him.
Cross-examined. These half-crowns are cast from a real half-crown in a plaster-of-Paris mould.
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "I deny having been in Woolwich before the day I was arrested."
Witnesses for the Defence.
MR. STREET. I live at 5, Herbert Street, New North Road, and am a decanter and wine-glass cutter—on Saturday night, 9th April, I went where the prisoner lives in Britannia Street for a suit of clothes from Mr. Ward, a tailor, who lives there, at 20 minutes past 9 or 20 minutes to 10—the prisoner opened the door—I asked whether Ward was in—he said "I will call up and see"—he did so; Mr. Ward answered and came down to the door—as I went away the prisoner said "Good evening, Mr. Street"—I am sure of that—I am positive it was after 9 o'clock because I was in Whitburn Place at 10 minutes past 9 on business.
Cross-examined. I might have been a quarter of an hour or 20 minutes there—I remember 9th April because it was the day after Good Friday—my attention was first called to the prisoner being in the house on 9th April on the Monday week following, the 18th, when his father called and said his boy had been locked up, and asked me to come down—when I got to Woolwich I heard it was for passing bad money the week before at 10 or 11 o'clock, and I said I saw the lad at half-past 9—between the 9th and the 18th I had no particular reason to remember my visit—I made no note of the time; I am positive it was after 9 o'clock.
MR. WARD. I live at 82, Britannia Street, and am a tailor—before Easter I had a suit of clothes to make for Street, who called on Saturday, 9th April, between 9 and half-past 9—I heard a knock at the door, and the prisoner answered it, coming from the back parlour—they live on the ground floor—he called up the stairs that I was wanted—I went down; Mr. Street was at the door, and went up with me, and I fitted the clothes on him—I saw the prisoner in the passage as I came down; he went into the back parlour, I saw no more of him—I let Street out when he went, I did not see the prisoner then—I have known the prisoner some time—he is as honest and quiet as any lad about, that is his reputation.
Cross-examined. I know the prisoner answered the door because I heard him go out and then call up the stairs to me—I did not see him till I came downstairs—Mr. Street was there from 9 to half-past 9—I never left off work till 10—I remember the day because of Mr. Street's clothes, which I took home on the Sunday morning—it would take an hour and a half or two hours to go from Britannia Street, Hoxton, to Woolwich; I have been once—Mr. Street did not speak to any one as he went downstairs—until I was spoken to by the prisoner's father I had not taken any particular notice of Street's visit.
HENRY HILL . I live at 7, Buckland Street, New North Road—on the Saturday before Easter Monday I was in Britannia Street, and I called on the prisoner's father about half-past 6—the prisoner opened the door and told me his father had gone out and would be in about half-past 9 or 10—I went away and called again about half-past 9, when the prisoner opened the door again—I am positive about the time—his father came in afterwards—the prisoner had his supper while I was there and went to bed; he said good night, and said he was going up to bed—I should think that was 10 o'clock or a few minutes after.
Cross-examined. I did not see where he went when he left the room—I fix the time because I called in at a public-house to have a drink and to see if Mr. Edmunds was there, and I looked at the clock in the public-house, and it was 9 o'clock, as near as I could guess—it is three or four minutes' walk from there to this house—I called because I had to arrange some business with the father for the following Easter Monday—Mr. Edmunds called on me a week or so afterwards, and my attention was then called to the hour at which I had been there—I had no particular reason for noticing the hour I called—I stopped there about an hour and a quarter, I should think.
Re-examined. I should have known if the prisoner had gone out, because he would have had to pass the room I was in.
MARY ANN EDMUNDS . I am the prisoner's mother; on the Saturday before Easter Sunday the prisoner was in bed at a quarter to 10 or 10 o'clock—I was in the house all the evening, I remember his going to bed quite well—the three Saturdays previous to Easter, including 26th March, he has been to bed early—he is an honest lad, that is his general reputation—he has been regularly to work.
Cross-examined. I was cleaning the place and preparing for Sunday on this evening of 9th April—I was in the room where my son is, and about the place all the time—I was in the room into which Mr. Hill was shown, doing housework and washing the children, some of whom were in bed—I remember the time the prisoner went to bed by his opening the door for Mr. Hill—I think my son opened the door for Mr. Ward—the prisoner usually goes for a walk at 8 and has supper at 9 o'clock, and goes to bed; it is not an uncommon occurrence at all his going to bed early—he is generally the first one in bed, having to get up early in the morning to go to work—one lad, who is outside, sleeps with him, no one else—I went to his room that night; I was up and down stairs two or three times from the time he went to bed till 12 o'clock—there are things I want for use in their room—I had no conversation with him before he went to bed, he only asked for supper and went to bed, and was asleep when I went up at half past 10, I saw him asleep then—I made no note of the time my son went to bed.
Re-examined. Thomas Clayton sleeps with him.
JOHN CLAYTON . I lodge at 82, Britannia Road—Albert (the prisoner) and William Edmunds sleep with me—on the Saturday before Easter Sunday they slept in the same bed with me, I am quite positive—I am positive the prisoner was in bed when I went to bed at 10 minutes to 11 o'clock—I have known him five or six years, since we went to school together—I have heard nothing against his honesty.
Cross-examined. Some one else was sleeping in the same bed—I was doing nothing particular that night, strolling about—I generally go to bed at 10 or 11, before 12 o'clock—on Good Friday night I went to bed at half-past 10—on the previous Saturday at half-past 11, or from that to 12 o'clock, I generally go to bed about that time—I can fix the time on that particular night because I had been walking about, and did not feel very well, and I had supper with Mrs. Edmunds about 10 minutes before I went to bed—on the 17th, the day after the prisoner was caught, I was first spoken to about the hour I went to bed on the 9th—Mrs. Edmunds spoke to me, I believe—all the holiday week the prisoner was abed before half-past 11 o'clock—I do not know where he was between the 9th and the 16th—I can't say where I was on Saturday, 26th March; somewhere about where I live—after I have gone to bed I have never got up and gone out the same night—I have been lodging at this house nine or ten weeks, I have been sleeping in the same room with the prisoner all that time—he has generally been the first to go to bed, not always—there has never been an occasion when I have not known when he has come to bed after me.
Re-examined. He has never slept out while I have been there; he has always come to bed.
THOMAS EDMUNDS . I am the prisoner's father—he has been a very steady, good lad—he bears the reputation of being an honest boy—on Saturday, 9th April, he was abed when I got home—I asked my missus if all were in, and then bolted the door; I did not go upstairs—on 18th April I was at Woolwich Police-court, knowing my son was charged with passing counterfeit coin—the other persons charged on that day were men as old as I am, none of them were about the same age as the prisoner—I was not present at the identification, but I heard Norman say in his evidence at the police-court, that the men with the prisoner when he was picked out were men who had been charged that morning, and I heard Mrs. Webb ask the same—the men were not like him in any manner.
Cross-examined. I did not see my son on the night of the 9th, and don't speak of my own knowledge about his being in bed, take my wife's word for it—I do not know why my son was at Woolwich, I had not seen him the whole of the day—I believe the prisoner has an uncle and aunt there in the Dockyard—I have not been to see them, I don't patronise any friends or relations—I got home on 9th April at nearly half-past 10, I should say; I did not particularly notice the time, I know it was early for me—I do not know where my son had been the previous Saturday night, nor the Saturday before that—I do not know what time he went to bed on those nights, they are generally in bed before I get home—on Sunday, 17th, when the policeman came to me, I went and saw Street and Ward—when we were up on the following Monday, I first heard about the prisoner being seen at Woolwich the
previous Saturday—I knew that on the 9th Ward had got clothes to make for Street, and I heard Ward say "I remember seeing the boy between 9 and 10 o'clock"—I cannot call to mind who first spoke about the time.
By the. JURY. The trams to Woolwich run about every hour, and take about 55 minutes, and then there is the boat as well—that is from Bishopsgate and Liverpool Street—you would have to allow two hours, I should think, to catch an appointment.
The prisoner received a good character from his late employer, who said he was willing to take him back into his service.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. WILKINSON. Prosecuted.
WILLIAM BEDFORD . I am employed at the roundabout, which is on a piece of waste ground in High Street, Deptford—there are ships which go round by steam—the prisoner came there about 9 o'clock with a young woman—the admission was two-pence for the two—he gave me a half-crown, and I gave him two separate shillings and fourpence—after I got on the ground I put the half-crown to my teeth—it bent slightly, and I took it back to the prisoner, and told him it was bad—he gave me two separate shillings and a sixpence for it, and I gave it back to him—it was similar to this (produced.)—this is the one I saw at the police-court—it was not so much bent as this is.
SIDNEY SHEPHERD . My father is a confectioner, of High Street, Deptford, about five minutes' walk from the roundabout—on 25th April, about 9 o'clock, the prisoner came in for two-penny worth of peppermint nuts, and then he said honey drops—he put a half-crown on the bottle in which the sweets were—I took it up, and sent the boy Alfred Palmer out to get change, but he did not come back, but the prisoner saw him on the other side of the road and went over, and I went across with him—he stood in the gutter till a constable came and took him to the station, where Mr. Blackshaw charged him, and I said that the half-crown was bad—I had not noticed that it was bent, but I thought it was big for a half-crown—I am 12 years old.
ALFRED PALMER . On 25th April I was in Mr. Shepherd's shop, and his son gave me a half-crown to get changed; he took it off a bottle—this is it—I took it to the Mechanics' Arms opposite, and gave it to the barman, who showed it to the potman—Mr. Blackshaw spoke to me, and the barmaid showed him the coin after bending it with her mouth—it was not bent at all when I got it—I pointed out the prisoner in Mr. Shepherd's shop to Mr. Blackshaw, who pointed him out to a constable—he was then standing in the gutter on the other side of the way, near the public-house.
JAMES WILLIAM BLACKSHAW . I am manager of the Mechanics' Arms, High Street, Deptford—on 25th April I was outside the house, and saw the boy go in—the barmaid afterwards handed me a bad half-crown—Palmer pointed out the prisoner to me—a policeman came down the road, and I gave him the coin, and pointed out the prisoner, who had been
pointed out to me—the barmaid marked the coin; it was bent something like this.
EDWARD LANGTON . (Policeman R. 361). On 25th April, about 9 p.m., I was in High Street, Deptford, and met the boy Palmer, who pointed out the prisoner to me and Mr. Blackshaw, and stated in his hearing that he had gone to Shepherd's shop and given Shepherd's boy a half-crown in payment for two-penny worth of sweets, and that Shepherd had sent Palmer to him—he gave me the half-crown—I said to the prisoner "I shall take you in custody for uttering this bad half-crown"—he said "I did not know it was bad; I got it in change at the roundabout; I paid them half-a-sovereign and got it in change, and gave the change to my wife"—I did not see a female till she got to the station—I took him into Shepherd's shop, searched him, and found on him fourpence in bronze—I took him to the station—Bedford came there, and I inquired if he had taken a half-sovereign—the prisoner said "That is the man who gave me a bad half-crown"—Bedford said "No; you tendered it to me, and I gave it back to you"—when the charge was read, the prisoner said "That is wrong; I can't see why I should be detained here"—he gave his address "12, High Road, Lee," which was correct—he seemed to have been drinking, but was not drunk—Mr. Blackshaw gave me this coin in this state, all but this piece, which the inspector cut out in my presence—this mark was put on it at the station.
Cross-examined. I went to the address at Lee which you gave me, and found that you bore a good character there for four years—you are a greengrocer.
The prisoner received a good character.
NOT GUILTY .
BARKER. PLEADED GUILTY .— Nine Months' Hard Labour MR. BURNIE. Prosecuted. MR. GEOGHEGAN. defended William Rhodes and MR. MUIR. defended Jesse Rhodes.
WILLIAM BROWN, JUN . I am the son of William Brown, a corn merchant, of 14, Burnt Ash Road, Lee—I was in my father's shop on Saturday, 30th April, and saw Jesse Rhodes come in and ask for a sack of maize, two trusses of clover, two trusses of hay, and a truss of straw—he paid 1l. 4s. 5d. for it—I gave him a delivery ticket and he went out of the shop—my father said something to me, and I went and concealed myself in my father's yard, where I could see what passed—I saw the two Rhodes and Barker and a man named Taylor there—Barker carried a sack of maize down from the loft and put it into the cart, and I saw the other goods purchased put into the cart—Taylor then went away, and as soon as he had gone up the yard William Rhodes and Barker went to a sack of oats near where the cart was, and carried a sack of oats and put it on the cart, and Jesse Rhodes pulled it on—I heard Barker say before that "How about this half pint of beer?"—the hay was pushed off before the oats were put on, and then it was put on top of the oats, and then Jesse Rhodes drove off—William Rhodes ran near to the part of the building where I was lying and then walked straight up the yard—I want and made a statement to my father.
Cross-examined by. MR. MUIR. This is a large yard—there were two or three stacks of oats about—I was in the yard commanding a view of this—it was about half-past 9, and was dark near where I was, but it was lighter farther up the yard—when they were loading the hay they were before me in the light—there was a light in the stable between the two windows; it has a swivel joint, and generally stands out at right angles, and shows a light into the yard—the maize was put on first, then the hay, and then the hay was taken off and the oats put on.
Cross-examined by. MR. GEOGHEGAN. I don't think the Rhodes live so far from us as two miles; it is along a rough country road, part of which is lighted—I am not quite sure whether all the horses were in the stable—the men were not paid off; they were waiting about in the yard—there was one man finishing cleaning his horse—there was not a van in the yard with a horse harnessed to it—it was about three-quarters of an hour to closing time—the men do not come in at once after finishing their work, and all our corn work was done, but our shop work had to be done—Taylor is still in our service; I don't know if Barker is; my father was bail for him—Barker's place is filled up—I don't suppose any other person but Taylor heard Barker say "Now, about this half pint of beer"—a man named Lock was out in the road near the yard where the cart would pass.
Re-examined. The men had left the yard when the oats was put on—it was just between dark and light where the prisoners were, but I could see what they were doing.
WILLIAM BROWN, SEN . I am a corn merchant, of 4, Burnet Ash Road, Lee, and the father of the last witness—on Saturday night, 30th April, about 9.40, Jesse Rhodes came into—the shop—I sent my son after him into the yard, and in consequence of what my son afterwards told me I immediately went with two police constables to the prisoner's father's house at Mottingham—I there saw Jesse standing by the cart, and I said to the police "Arrest that man"—I did not say what for; I had previously told the constables—immediately afterwards William drove the horse and cart off as fast as possible and ran by the side of it—I don't know that he struck the horse at all; it did not want much striking, it was a very good horse—I followed and stopped the horse about a dozen yards off—one of the constables then examined the cart and I saw him find a sack of oats—I took that and Jesse to the station with the constable—at first he said "I know nothing about this"; afterwards he said "Will you look over this, Mr. Brown, my father is very ill"—he afterwards said "This is the first time, Mr. Brown; will you allow us to pay for the oats and I will pay all expenses?"—I said "I cannot do that, I would rather have given £50 than this should have happened; but I could not go back for £500"—I charged him at the station—on my return home I found that Barker had absconded—I examined the sack of oats; it was mine—Barker ought to have been at home when I got back—I usually pay the men myself, but in my absence my son would do it occasionally, and he had paid Barker—it was Barker's duty to come on Sunday morning; he did not do so—he came to my house to see me on Monday night and I gave him into custody—he then made a statement in my presence—on the Sunday I charged William Rhodes—I had received information in the meantime from my son.
Cross-examined by. MR. MUIR. The conversation between myself and
Jesse was in the cab—he denied the charge immediately after we left the farm—I think he said "I have nothing to do with this."
Cross-examined by. MR. GEOHEGAN. The farm is down a little lane 80 or 100 yards off the high road—the horse was stopped within 30 yards of the farm.
PHILIP DODD . (Police Sergeant R R. 5). On Saturday evening, 30th April, the prosecutor made a complaint to me, and I went with him and another officer to the house of the prisoner's father, the Woodlands, Mottingham—Jesse Rhodes was there pointed out to me by the prosecutor and given into my custody—I saw William standing by the side of the cart when Jesse was given into custody—William ran to the horse's head and tried to urge it on; he caught hold of the reins and gave it a jerk—I directed the prosecutor to stop the horse—it was stopped—I found a sack of oats in the cart covered over with straw and hay—the prosecutor identified it.
Cross-examined by. MR. GEOHEGAN. I am sure William jerked the rein—he did not whip the horse; he only put his hand on the horse on its way to the stable.
HENRY JAYS . (Policeman R R. 49). I accompanied Dodd and the prosecutor—he gave Jesse into custody for stealing a sack of oats—William went 10 the horse's head, turned it to the right, and urged it on.
Cross-examined by. Mr. GEOHEGAN. William urged the horse on not with the whip but with his hand—he went two or three paces with it; he took hold of the bridle and got it on to the trot—he did not pull its head on one side; he pushed it round to the right and went two or three paces and then let go—I call that urging it on.
FRANCIS NEWPORT . (Police Sergeant R.) At 2 o'clock on Sunday afternoon, 1st May, I arrested William Rhodes at his house—I told him I should take him into custody for being concerned with two others in stealing a sack of oats from Mr. Brown on the evening of 30th April—he said "I was in the yard at the time; I know nothing whatever about the oats."
J. and W. Rhodes received good characters.
NOT GUILTY .
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. BROUN. Prosecuted.
GUILTY. of indecent assault.— Two Years' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Justice Hawkins.
MR. POLAND. and. MR. CHARLES MATHEWS. Prosecuted. MR. GEOGHEGAN defended at the request of the Court.
ARMIGER HIPPESLEY BRANDT . I have been living for some time past with my mother at 12, Constance Road, Champion Hill—she is a widow with a small income of her own—my other two brothers also lived at home—I was the eldest of the three, aged 22, and then my deceased
brother, Tom Seeley Brandt, aged 21, and then the prisoner, who is 20 years of age—the prisoner was at school at the Asylum for Fatherless Children at Reedham for six years, from 1874 to 1880—he left there when he was 13 or 14 years of age, and came and lived at home for a little time, and after that he was in the service of several people off and on down to the year 1885—amongst those people was a Mr. Hutchinson, an oil and colourman, of Dulwich, and a Mr. Fleming, a china and glass dealer, of Denmark Hill—from 1885 down to this year he has been constantly at home doing nothing but going errands—he can read and write, he has been very fond of reading—during the time he lived at home he was quiet and inoffensive in his manner—I had had no differences with him, and I knew of none he had had with his brother Tom—so far as I knew they were perfectly good friends—on Thursday evening, 5th May, I was in the company of my brother Tom, and also in the afternoon—the prisoner and we two had had our dinner together on that day shortly after two—the prisoner seemed the same as usual then—we talked together as usual after dinner, but there was nothing in any way to excite attention—we all three had tea together also, about half-past five—we talked as usual then, but we usually did not talk very much—that was the last meal we all three had together—some little time after tea, about six o'clock, Tom and I left the house together, leaving the prisoner behind—I remained in Tom's company till five minutes to 12, and then left him at the Railway Hotel, Champion Hill—on that night we went together into about three public-houses, but we were perfectly sober when we left—I went home alone, and about three minutes after I arrived my brother Tom came in—the prisoner was in the kitchen; it was not usual for him to be up so late—he went to bed generally at 11 o'clock—I said "Halloa, Bill. what's on?"—he said "I have been to the Branch, good company"—I knew he was alluding then to a music hall called the Rosemary Branch—he seemed then as he always was—there was no signs of drink about him—Tom came in after that conversion—nothing passed between him and the prisoner while I was there—I said "Good night" to both of them, and having taken off my boots I went upstairs to bed, leaving them both in the kitchen—mother had already gone to bed—I slept in the back room on the first floor—Tom slept in the front room on the same floor, next to me, and my mother slept in the front parlour, underneath Tom's room—the prisoner slept in a room above the kitchen on the same floor as I did—I went to bed about 20 minutes past 12, and about three, as near as I can guess, I heard a sort of a bang—it was only one report—I took no notice of it, arid went to sleep again directly—I did not get up until 20 minutes to 10 the next morning—going down-stairs I would have to pass the prisoner's bedroom, and I noticed the door was open, and went into the room, and saw this lid (produced.) of a cartridge box on the bed—the bed appeared to have been slept in, and the window of the room was open at the time—I went downstairs then and saw my mother in the kitchen, and made a statement to her, and then she and I went to the prisoner's room, and I showed her the lid of the cartridge box which I had seen previously—on turning down the bed clothes I found this empty cartridge box—I went downstairs then—I then heard my mother go in Tom's room, and then she came down and made a statement to me, in consequence of which I went to Tom's room—I there saw the pillow case of his bed smothered with blood, and he lying in bed in
his night shirt, on his right side, dead—I left the room immediately and went out and saw a constable, and made a statement to him, and then I went in search of Dr. Hayward, who at one time had attended Tom, but I was unable to find him, and then I went to Dr. Hardy, and he came to the house with me—I was not aware at that time that the prisoner had a revolver and cartridges in his possession—this mallet (produced.) belongs to me, and is one of my tools—it was usually kept in my tool box in the kitchen—I am a coachman—I last saw it there a month before, the 6th May—I next saw the prisoner on 10th May, when he was in custody—he was away from home all that time—on the 10th, Tuesday morning, I went with Mr. Lane to the cells at the Police-court, where the prisoner was—I asked him what he meant by such dreadful proceedings—he said "Well, Tom annoyed me once; he struck me with a whip last Tuesday"—I said "What for?"—he said "Because I said to him, 'If you can't afford to keep a dog properly you should not keep one at all'"—I said "Because he did that, do you consider yourself justified in taking his life?"—he said "Well, I don't know, it was the brandy that did it"—I said "What brandy?"—he said "Oh, I took half a tumbler of brandy before I did it"—he said he had taken the brandy in his room—I then asked him how he killed Tom—he said "I struck him with the mallet and then I shot him with a revolver"—I asked him if Tom saw him—he said "No," he would not have shot him only he thought he could have shot himself afterwards—I said "You intended killing me as well, did you not?"—he said "Well, you said you would like it"—I said "Oh, that was only in joke"—he said "Ah, but you said it"—I said "When did you alter the lock on my door?"—he said he did that on Thursday afternoon—I then said "Why did you not come into my room?"—he said the report of the pistol so frightened him he made all haste from the house—I then asked him where he went to when he left the house—I understood him to say that he went to some woods round Croydon, and he placed the barrel of the revolver in his mouth, intending to commit suicide, but he had not the heart to pull the trigger—he told me where he had been all day Friday, but I can't remember that—he said that he had fired two shots from the revolver on the Thursday for practice—he said he went into his brother's room at three o'clock on the Friday morning—besides telling me about the whip he said I did not know half that occurred between him and Tom—he said he had been at Peckham on Friday and Saturday—I asked him if he would like to see his mother—he said "No," and he cried—he said he had bought the revolver on the Thursday at Prescotts and Bingham's, in Church Street, Camberwell, and the cartridges he bought at a shop in the Borough—I asked where he got the money from, and he said that he picked a pocket last February at a Socialist meeting at Peckham, and he went on an excursion with the money last Bank Holiday; that would be Easter Monday, 11th April—I asked him how much money he got—he said 30s.—I told him that he had put down a sovereign when he went to buy the revolver, and he said that was correct—he said "I shall plead guilty, they can't give me penal servitude, they must hang me, and then it will be all right, as there is no hereafter"—I had repeatedly heard him speak in that way before, as to there being no hereafter—my brother Tom had been a cab driver—he had a whip, arid kept a dog—the prisoner used to go to Socialist meetings—it might have been a week or a month before this that I spoke about his
taking my life—it was in joke, all the talk was in joke—he said "I could shoot anybody," and I said "Very well, you had better commence on me at once"—of course it was only larking—he had no revolver at that time—the lock of my bedroom door used to squeak in opening or shutting, because the lock was too near the box: that continued up to 5th May—on the Sunday after the prisoner left I examined the lock, it made no noise then—the box had been knocked back so as it should not touch the lock—I did not see an empty tumbler on the prisoner's mantle-piece on the morning of 6th May—to my knowledge there was no brandy in the house that night.
Cross-examined. I and Tom generally went out together, the prisoner usually went out alone he would go as far as Peckham with me—his mother only allowed him a half-pint of beer at dinner—I never saw him under the influence of drink—at the time I had the conversation with him in the cell he had been remanded on the charge of wilful murder, I had been in Court and heard that—I spoke to him through the grating of the cell—during the greater part of the conversation he was laughing—until I spoke to him about his mother he treated the matter with the greatest unconcern and indifference; he did not appear to realise his position—he and I were the best of friends, and on most affectionate terms—he had no reason for attempting to take my life—I remember once saying that I did not see the use of living if one could not get on—I have no recollection of saying I should like some one to kill me in the night, and then there would be no pain, and saying to the prisoner "Suppose you try, William"—I may have said something having the same meaning—I said to him the week before this Thursday, if one had to die I should like to die in the middle of the night, and no pain—I did also say "Suppose you try, William"—he used to read the newspapers a great deal, especially the police reports—I have heard him discussing Currell's case, the Hoxton murder—he was very interested in that; he would read and re-read the accounts of that case, and discuss it with every one—he spoke in praise of Currell; I heard him say that he was a brave man to take anybody's life like that—I do not know of my own knowledge that he has tried to commit suicide, my mother told me that he had—he told me himself that he had tried to commit suicide by taking chloroform about two years ago, I don't know the time exactly—I don't remember whether it was at the time of the Bartlett case—he was always wishing to be out of the world; he used to say to me "When I lay my head down to sleep of a night I wish that I should never wake again"—he was always talking about dying and making away with one's self; his conversation was mostly like that—he suffered a good deal from pains in his head he used to complain very much of that—he did not say he could not sleep well at night he always told me that he slept very well—there was seldom a day that he did not complain of pains in his head.
MARY LOUISA BRANDT . The prisoner is my son, he has been out of work about two years—I did not make him any regular allowance—on Thursday night, 5th May, I saw him last about midnight—I wont to bed leaving him up—I noticed that throughout the day he was rather restless—next morning, after looking about for him, I went into his room, and he was not there—I noticed a tumbler on his mantel-shelf, and I took it down and washed it—I did not notice whether it smelt of anything having been in it—as a rule I never had brandy in the house.
Cross-examined. I remember my father's death in Liverpool, in 1843, I was quite young then—he died in some asylum, whether it was public or private I don't know—my husband died of paralysis—the prisoner has told me that he three times attempted to take his own life—on one occasion he was for 56 hours unable to eat or drink anything in consequence of taking chloroform, that was about two years ago—I also found some charcoal in his room, he told me he intended to stifle himself—he told me on another occasion that he had tried to take poison in some beer—he used to say that there was not a single day that he felt well; he was always complaining of pains in the head, or in his face, or of toothache, or something, he was never well—he did not on this very Thursday complain of pains in his head, but he put his hand to his head as if he did—he did not say on the Thursday that he felt vile, but it was almost an everyday expression of his that he felt vile.
Re-examined. I hardly remember how old I was when my father died; I am 58 now—he died somewhere in Liverpool; I don't know where exactly—when the prisoner told me about trying to take his own life he said that he preferred death to anything; that was his universal expression.
By. MR. GEOGHEGAN. I remember my son talking about the Hoxton murder, and saying what a brave man Currell was—I am not quite certain as to his saying he could shoot anybody he liked—I am so deaf that I don't hear half that is said—I remember his coming back from the boat race and asking him how he enjoyed it—he said "I liked it for once, but I would prefer death."
HENRY CLARK BINGHAM . I am partner with Mr. Prescott; we are pawnbrokers in Church Street, Camberwell—between 3 and 5 on the afternoon of the 5th the prisoner came into the shop and said he wanted to see a revolver which was hanging in the window—I took it out and showed it to him—he asked the price—I told him half-a-guinea—he said he would take it, and he tendered a sovereign in payment, and I gave him 9s. 6d. change—he asked me to show him how to use it—the barrel turns freely the reverse way—he thought there was something the matter with it, and I pulled the trigger and showed him how the revolver worked—he then asked where he could get some cartridges—I told him he could get them in the Borough, and if not there in Gracechurch Street—this is the revolver I sold him.
HENRY WHITEHEAD . I am errand boy to Mr. Hewitt, a gun dealer, 84, Blackman Street, Southwark—between half-past 3 and 4 on Thursday afternoon, 5th May, a young man came into the shop and asked for some cartridges—I cannot recognise him—he bought 50 cartridges of the size 450—I served him with them in this box—he paid 4s. 6d. for them—he produced this revolver, and asked me to show him how to load it with the cartridges, I did so, and he then left.
By the. COURT. I cannot tell whether this is the box—I know the revolver, by having the rust on the barrel; that is the only thing I know it by.
GEORGE BYWATER . (Policeman P.) On the afternoon of 6th May, about half-past 1, I went to 12, Constance Road with Inspector Ross—I went up to a room which was shown me as the prisoner's, and there found this mallet on a shelf in a cupboard—there was a stain on it which looked like blood—I afterwards tried to find the prisoner, and on
9th May I saw him in North Cross Road, East Dulwich—he was carrying a watering can—I followed him, and asked what he had got there—before he had time to answer I asked him his name—he replied "Brandt"—I was in plain clothes—I told him I was an officer, and I should take him into custody for the murder of his brother on Friday last—he said "All right"—I searched him, and found the revolver produced in his left hand coat pocket, and it was loaded in six chambers—he said "Mind, it's loaded"—he was taken to the station and there told the charge again—he paid "I know that; I don't deny it; I did it"—I searched him at the station, and in his right hand jacket pocket found a linen bag containing 40 central fire ball cartridges—there was no money found on him.
FREDERICK WILLIAM BENTLEY . (Policeman P. 516). I was with Bywater when the prisoner was arrested—in reply to the charge he said "All right; if I had had any money you would not have found me here; I should have been a long way from here"—he was taken to the station and charged—he said there "I am tired; I have been sleeping in fields and unfinished houses since Friday night; I bought a paper and see it there, but I did not see any bills about it.
Cross-examined. Champion Hill is half a mile from where the prisoner was arrested—he was standing.
HORATIO NELSON HARDY . I am a Fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, and one of the surgeons to the police—on 6th May I was called to 12, Constance Road, and there saw the body of the deceased—he was lying on his right side, dead—there was a bullet wound behind the left ear and through the brain—on the 7th I made a post-mortem—the bullet wound was the immediate cause of death—I also found extensive injuries on the right side of the forehead, fractures of the skull—they could not have been inflicted in the position in which I found the body lying—in my opinion they had been inflicted first, and the pistol shot afterwards.
Witnesses for the Defence.
HENRY HAYWARD . I live at East Dulwich Grove, and am a licentiate of the Royal College of Surgeons, Dublin, and the Royal College of Physicians, Dublin—in 1882 I attended the prisoner at his mother's house for about three days for a very slight bodily ailment; I believe it was a cold—I then had an opportunity of forming an opinion as to his mental condition, and I came to the conclusion that he was out of his mind at that time.
Cross-examined. This was January 29th, 1882—I was called to attend him simply for a cold. Q. You say out of his mind; in what way? A. His manner was wild and excited for one thing; his aspect was that of a person out of his mind—it was impossible to get any definite answer to my questions, and I believe he threatened to throw himself out of the window—to the best of my belief he threatened that; it was five years ago—that is the recollection I have, but I cannot swear to that point—I have no notes of the case—I saw him on two subsequent occasions professionally—those three visits were the only occasions I saw him—I did not recommend that he should be put under restraint—I recommended on the night he threatened to throw himself out of window that they should sit up with him, and watch him closely; that was on a Sunday night—I believe he had no delusions—I considered him on the
Sunday evening to be in a state of mania, temporarily insane, not permanently so—I could not attribute it to any cause—had he continued in the state he was in I would certainly have signed a certificate for his removal to a lu atic asylum—I was not called in to see him again after my third visit—I knew he was in the permanent employment of Mr. Hutchinson at that time—the maniacal excitement passed off.
Re-examined. But it certainly might recur at any after period—I have heard the evidence to-day about his father dying of paralysis and about his maternal grandfather; that strengthens my belief in the opinion I then formed—madness sometimes steps over a generation.
By the. COURT. I have had no special experience in cases of this kind—when I say a man is out of his mind I mean when his perception of right and wrong is temporarily lost—I should not say a man was not out of his mind until he had temporarily lost all perception of the difference between right and wrong—a man may be subject to delusions—I found none here, but he was more in a state of mania—a man is in a state of mania when he is utterly regardless, without any physical illness, of his own life or the lives of others—he was regardless of his own life on that night—I cannot remember it absolutely, but one thing I can remember perfectly, that I advised his mother to sit up with him that night on account of his tendency to suicide—I believe something was said about suicide; I judge so from what I told the mother—the prisoner was not physically ill—he gave no rational answers to my questions as to what he was suffering from—he contradicted himself in all his answers—contradicting himself was not a proof of insanity—I asked him what was the matter with him—he said "Nothing"—a minute after I asked him "What have they sent for me for?" and he said because he was very bad—it did not strike me that my first question was a little misleading—he understood my question—when I began to into enter his symptoms he complained of his head—I have no doubt I asked him about it—I could get nothing out of him.
By the. JURY. A person who is ill and has a high fever may get out of his mind in that state.
CHARLES SELLARS . I live at Chaucer Villa, Rossiter Road, Balham, and am clerk to a solicitor—I knew the prisoner when he was a child, and after that I knew him about six years ago for two or three years—he has been at my house—when he was a child I was always given to understand that he was not right in his head, and in later years when he came to my house I decidedly thought he was not right in the head, because of his very peculiar behaviour—I saw him until about three years ago—up to that time my opinion remained unchanged.
Cross-examined. I have not seen him for three years.
HENRY JOHN HARVEY . I was formerly an assistant-master at Reedham School, where the prisoner was brought up; he was five years under my care, I saw him daily—he entered school at 8 years of age, and left it at 14, I believe—I should describe his conduct perhaps as silly eccentricity, he rather amused the other boys; a kind of silly recklessness distinguished his conduct—he was the butt of the others, both younger and older—in games in the playground he would run about and play about, as if to indicate that he did not know what he was about—he was altogether different from the other boys, and could not fail to attract the attention of anyone especially.
Cross-examined. He was about five years under my care at this school—I cannot say whether any doctor attended him during that time, that would be in the Matron's department, I cannot remember—he was taught reading, writing, and arithmetic; he was not so proficient as the average of boys of his age, but fairly proficient; I cannot remember about his ciphering—except his not being quite so bright and clever as the other boys, I cannot remember his failing in anything particularly—I had left the school before he was 14—he was fairly good in his behaviour, and attended to the discipline of the school—he was silly not only in games but in school, in his general demeanour—I have a very clear recollection of the peculiar manner in which he would laugh at apparently nothing, a very strange laugh that would live in the memory of those that heard it, a very strange laugh from no cause as far as we could judge; nothing else—the school was the Asylum for Fatherless Children; Mr. Carter was the head master during the last year—the master who was there during nearly the whole time the prisoner was there is dead.
MR. KING. I am a shoemaker at Lordship Lane—the prisoner was in my service in 1881 or 1882, I am not positive which—I got rid of him—I cannot exactly remember what his conduct was like—I remember he would stroke my beard, I think be did it the first day he was with me; he said he liked to stroke my beard down—he did nothing else that struck me, that did not occur more than once—there was something wrong, I could not say what—I did not get rid of him through his conduct—he was errand boy—simply running about delivering parcels—stroking my beard is the only thing I can remember with reference to his conduct.
Cross-examined. He used to go about and deliver the parcels all right, so far as I remember—I forget what I paid him—I paid him to do the work in the ordinary way of an errand boy—he was about 14 or 15—he stroked my beard when he first came—he worked for me for a week, I believe.
PERCY HILL . I live at 62, Adey's Road, Dulwich, and belong to the Young Men's Association at Peckham—about eight or nine months ago I casually met the prisoner, who was a stranger to me till then—during these eight or nine months I have seen him on an average about four times a month, once a week; I would have conversation with him—he was constantly talking about death, sudden death and suicide—he said once that he was going to do something desperate, a hanging job—that was between seven and eight months ago—I asked him what he meant, and he said he was going to do something desperate and get hung; he said that he delighted in the thought of death—he said on one occasion "I want you to tell me something"—I said "I will if I can"—he said "There is a little vein or nerve behind the ear, if you prick it it will cause instant death; will you tell me the exact position of it?" I said "I don't know it, but I am sure I should not tell you if I did"—in consequence of his conversations about death we, the members of the Association, used to talk of him familiarly as Sweeney Tod—he was asked into the Association as a friend—these conversations took place every time I saw him almost.
Cross-examined. The Association is the Young Men's Christian Association—we had open-air meetings on Sunday nights, and asked young men into the meeting-room afterwards, and I asked prisoner in one night?—I
don't know that he came to the open-air meeting—that was how I came to make his acquaintance—that was all I noticed about him, I think—I did not know where he lived.
Re-examined. I did not know him by the name of Brandt, I thought his name was Roberts, but I did not know what his name was.
Witnesses in Reply.
JAMES ARNESS CARTER . I am head master of the Asylum for Fatherless Children, and I was so in September, 1880; on 30th September, 1880, the prisoner left the Asylum—I was head master fifteen months before he left—during that period he always conducted himself properly at the Asylum, except for trivial boyish offences, nothing serious—he was taught the usual subjects—he was backward; he always seemed to me incapable; he was not a good writer, but he could write and could cipher fairly; he was always reading, and always reading the newspaper—he was not so bright as the other boys—his behaviour was fairly good—I gave him a certificate of his good character when he left—I had my doubts as to whether he would make a good servant; I thought he would be faithful, but I doubted his capacity for doing things—I think he was particularly good at writing from dictation—this certificate correctly expresses my opinion of him at the time—I had no guide from his previous history at the school.
Cross-examined. The under masters would see more of the scholars than I as head master would—Mr. Harvey was longer at the school with the prisoner than I was, and I think he would have better opportunities of judging, as he was under master—he was incapable not from the want of willingness to read and learn, that is my impression; I mean he was really mentally deficient—he was called by the other boys Sammy, and I think that arose from one of our entertainments, where there was a character imbecile and rather idiotic, who was called Sammy, and after that the boys called the prisoner Sammy—they made a butt of him—he was not only a backward boy, but deficient in mental power—I would not go so far as to say he was idiotic—he was always reading newspaper accounts of what was going on.
RICHARD WILLIAM FLEMING . I am a china and glass dealer at Denmark Hill—in August or September, 1884, the prisoner came into my service as porter and remained continuously for nine months—during the whole of that time he worked satisfactorily in every way; he came to me day by day—I had opportunities of seeing him throughout the time—he took things out either by hand or truck and always did it perfectly satisfactorily—he broke things occasionally, but I had no cause of complaint beyond that—Miss Swan was with me during the time he was there.
Cross-examined. I told him to take a parcel to a house and he did it satisfactorily—he fetched and carried—I noticed he was not like other boys; he was simple and sammy, as the Scotch say, by which they mean soft.
HENRY CHARLTON BASTIAN . M.D. AND F.R.C.P. I am one of the physicians at the University College Hospital and at the Hospital for Paralysis and Epilepsy—I have had great experience in cases of insanity—on the 25th, the day before yesterday, and yesterday, I was called to see the prisoner in the gaol—I saw Dr. Gilbert there—on each of those occasions I had long interviews with the prisoner—I could detect no evidence of delusions—I could not say that he is insane, but of
extremely weak mind, and there is no term between imbecility and ordinary intellect—he was not imbecile, but weak-minded—I should say he was nearer imbecility than ordinary average intellect—he was rational to a degree when I conversed with him—his motives you can scarcely describe as reasonable, his mode of talking about the offence which I spoke to him about—he gave me an account of the way he committed it and the reasons for it, which were utterly inadequate for the act—he understood my questions and answered rationally—one reason he gave for the crime was that his deceased brother had struck him with a whip on the Tuesday—he then called to mind a conversation which he had with Armiger on the previous Friday in which he said that he should like some one to kill him in the night, and made a sort of suggestion to the prisoner, "Suppose you do it, Will"; so that after this blow he determined, he said, to convert Armiger's request into a reality, to do for them all, to kill his two brothers and himself—he said he did not kill himself because he was so frightened at the noise of the pistol that he determined then to get away—that was why he did not kill Armiger or himself—he said when he was beyond Croydon he determined to put an end to his life, and he put the barrel of the pistol into his mouth but he had not the courage to pull the trigger.
Cross-examined. Before I was examined the Treasury gave me a report and a copy of the depositions—I knew from the depositions his father had died of paralysis, with a disease of the nervous system, and that his grandfather on the mother's side had died insane—the prisoner physically shows signs of an extremely badly-developed nervous system; he has a small head—I noticed he had a restless demeanour, a habit of glancing about furtively—on close examination there were twitchings of various facial muscles, all of which would denote a low, unstable condition—I mentioned to him about his stealing money at the Socialist meeting and whether he understood right and wrong, and whether he was in the habit of thinking on such subjects—his reply was he never gave a thought to it—I said to him "You must have known Armiger could not have meant it," when we had this conversation about his shooting Armiger and the rest of them—he said with a smile, "Well, he asked me to do it"; that was his justification, as it were—I have said I consider the prisoner nearer imbecility than average intellect—I cannot say he is very near indeed to the border line; I cannot say he is an imbecile, I do think him a very low type and very low minded, weak minded—I never heard till to-day about his conversation about Currell and the Hoxton murder—frequently with persons of exceedingly weak mind publicity given to a thing like that leads to imitation—he told me that immediately before he did this he drank brandy, I don't think it had any influence on his actions—I asked particularly about it; he brought brandy in with him the night before; he woke in the middle of the night, got up, partly dressed, drank the brandy, and within three or four minutes went down-stairs and procured the mallet and went to his brother's room—he brought the brandy in the night before with a view to give him courage, I take it, to do this act which he had contemplated—I gathered the blow was a very slight one—I could not gather that it was a cruel one—he told me that when he was contemplating this act he fell asleep within ten minutes after getting into bed, although he had come into the house prepared to kill his two brothers—I asked him whether he had thought much
about it and whether he got to bed soon—He told me he had fallen asleep within ten minutes, having the intention at the time of committing this deed in the night—he told me he had tried to take his own life on several occasions—I asked his reason; he said he was tired of life and that he could get nothing to do and that he did not want to live—he told me he made four distinct attempts previously to putting the pistol into his mouth—Dr. Gilbert was present part of the time I was with the prisoner, a warder was just outside the door—the prisoner did not appear to realise the position he was in; there was a levity of manner and frequently silly laughter—his demeanour in Court now quite agrees with that—insanity does escape a generation.
PHILIP FRANCIS GILBERT . I am surgeon of the prison at Holloway—from the 10th of this month the prisoner has been under my constant observation—I have frequently examined him with a view of arriving at the condition of his mind—my opinion is that he is of extremely weak intellect, but I do not consider him actually insane—I should not describe him either as an imbecile or idiot, but of very weak intellect.
Cross-examined. I agree with everything that Dr. Bastian has said.
By the. COURT. The definition of insane, in my mind, is when a man is not liable for what he does, a man subject to delusions—I do not mean a man cannot be insane without having delusions—imbecility is congenital and more like idiotcy—idiotcy and imbecility are practically the same thing, extreme imbecility and idiotcy are the same—I should not say the prisoner was in an extremely imbecile condition, but extremely weak-minded—I could not fix any dividing line to define in any way where insanity commences and extremely weak intellect merges into insanity—extremely weak intellect merges at last into imbecility; it is the next stage—the dividing line is an exceedingly narrow one—there is no dividing line at all that I know of—they are not the same thing—I cannot define insanity, it is only a word we have to use—I think the dividing line is more imaginary than real; my opinion is that it is nearly imaginary.
GUILTY. of the act. being insane at the time so as not to be responsible for his actions.— To be detained during Her Majesty's pleasure.
MR. HORACE AVORY. Prosecuted. MR. GILL. Defended.
ELIZABETH PETHER . I am the wife of Richard Pether, living at Kingston Road, Leatherhead Common—the prisoner is my sister—she is a single girl, and about 21 years of age—on 22nd February last she came to my house for the purpose of being confined there—she was confined on the 29th March of a female child—she was to have been attended by a midwife; the midwife came and Dr. Potts, of Leatherhead, attended her—she remained in the house with the child up to the 29th April—I went out that day about 2 o'clock—I returned about 4, the prisoner met me at the gate and told me that she had given her baby away to a gipsy woman—I said "You have done what, Annie?"—she said "I have given my baby to a gipsy woman"—I said "Let us go for the police or find somebody to go"—she said "If you do, I shall make away with myself"—I went into the house with her—my husband came in shortly after and I made a statement to him in her presence, and he took her to the
police-station—the inspector came back with my husband and the prisoner—she made a statement to the inspector in my presence, the same as she had told me, that she had given the baby away, and she gave a description of the van, and the name of Mr. Nelson as the name on the van—she remained at my house that night—on the Saturday morning about 9 o'clock the inspector came again and took her to the police-station—on that same night I went with my husband to the station to see her—my husband told her that he had been to Kingston and all round to try to find some tidings of the van, but it could not be found, and he told her he was going to Cobham in the morning to still search for the baby—she then said she had drowned it; that she had put some cold water into a pail and some warm to it, and put it head downwards into the pail and put a pan on the top—she said she had put the warm water because she thought it would be cruel to put cold—she said she had buried it in the garden—I said "How could you be so cruel, was the water too warm, or did you hurt the baby before putting it there?—she said "No, the water was only warm, I put my hand in first to see that it was only sufficiently warm"—we then left the station and the inspector came with us, and he went into the garden and found the dead body of the child buried—I did not see him find it, I was indoors—he brought the dead body into the house and I saw it was my sister's child—on the 29th April an arrangement was made for the prisoner to go to a situation; she did not know the exact day, but she thought it would be on the 5th of May—no arrangement was made about the baby—I had no other intention only to have taken it—my sister asked me on the Friday—I did not tell her I would take it—she did not ask me to do so—she knew I was fond of the baby, I always washed and dressed it.
Cross-examined. Before her confinement she was a girl of a very cheerful disposition—she had a very bad confinement—after she had been some 30 or 40 hours in labour a doctor was sent for—something went wrong—the doctor saw her and went away, and some time after that she was delivered of the child when the midwife was there—the after-birth did not come away till several hours afterwards, and there was some trouble about it—during all that time she got no sleep, she was lying in one position—after the confinement I noticed a change in her manner, she was very quiet; she sat for hours without speaking unless I spoke to her—she was very fond of her baby; she was on perfectly good terms with me in every way—the situation she was to go to was close by, within 10 minutes by train—I saw the child when it was found, it was dressed, the same as I had left it—when I spoke to her about it she said she had put her hand in the water to see that it was not too warm, so as to ascertain that it would not hurt the child—she also said she had placed it carefully in the hole so that she might not hurt it—I asked her if she had emptied the water in the pail and she said she had not, she had taken it out carefully—her manner and behaviour was different to what it had been before.
By the. COURT. She knew that I was very fond of the child; she had no reason to believe that I would not keep it—she did not ask me to take care of it, she took it for granted that I would; she knew I should not let anyone else have it—I had not said I would not have it and that I would get rid of it; she knew very well that I would not part with it—after
she spoke about the child I began to cry—she sat down quietly and had her tea unconcerned.
ARTHUR PETHER . I am the husband of the last witness—when I came home about 5 or 6 o'clock on Friday, 29th April, I found my wife and the prisoner indoors—my wife was crying—the prisoner was having her tea; she seemed very low and quiet—my wife told me what she had said about the baby—I afterwards went to the station, and I was there the next night when she made a statement.
WILLIAM WOODS . (Inspector of the Surrey Constabulary.) On Friday, 29th April, about 9 o'clock, the prisoner was brought to me by Pether—he told me what she had said about the baby having been given to a gipsy—I made inquiries, and on Saturday morning I went and took the prisoner to the station; she was detained there—about 10.30 p.m. Pether and his wife came to the station—he spoke to the prisoner in his wife's presence—the prisoner made a statement, which I wrote down, about her having drowned the child and buried it, and she signed it—I then went with Pether and his wife to their cottage—I went into the back garden, and there found the dead body of the child buried under ground, about 18 inches under the surface—it was at the back of the garden, near the w.c., near the path—she had described the exact spot where I found it—it was dressed in its clothes, except that there was nothing on the head—the clothes were wet—this is the statement she made, which I took down. (Read: "This is the voluntary statement of Annie Cherry. Annie Cherry states that she wishes to make a statement where her missing child can be found. 'I drowned the child in a large pail. I warmed the water and put it in, and I put a pan on the top of the head. When it was dead I buried it in the garden.'") I have also a paper on which she wrote the address of the van—I asked her to describe the man and woman; I took it down. (Read: "About a quarter-past 3 on the afternoon of 29th inst. I went with my baby to a hawker's van on the Kingston Road, near the Royal Oak, Leatherhead Common. I saw brooms, brushes, and mats hanging outside the van. I saw a woman and man in the van. I told the woman I wanted to buy a cradle for the baby. The woman showed me a cradle, and asked if I would like to part with the baby. I said I did not mind, and I let her have it. I took the name and address on the left side of the van, 'Mr. Nelson, 39, High Street, Swindon.' The woman said that address would find her, as she had one business there. She said she had no children of her own now, but she once had a little girl and that died. She put a hood on the child, and wrapped it in a black-and-grey shawl. She asked me my name, and I told her, but she did not take it down. The woman was about 35 years of age, rather short, dressed in a brown dress and black hat. The man looked older than the woman, rather short, had dark whiskers.")
By the. COURT. She made that statement on Friday night, the 29th—I do not think it was given in evidence before the Magistrate; the other statement was, but not this; I had it in my pocket; I thought it was not material—it is signed by the prisoner—the Magistrate's clerk took the depositions.
was protruding from the mouth; the stomach contained water; the vessels generally were gorged with blood-in my opinion the child had died from drowning—there was no indication of scalding on the skin—I had not known the prisoner previous to her confinement—I attended her in her confinement on 29th March—I first saw her when she had been in labour between 30 and 40 hours; I then left her and saw her when she had been confined about an hour—that was about six hours after I first saw her—I then attended to her, and took away the after-birth; that was rather more than an hour after I got there—there was great difficulty in taking it away; it would not come in the natural course, as it ought to have done—I saw her twice afterwards.
Cross-examined. When I went there after she had been between 30 and 40 hours in labour there was a midwife there—she had been practically left all that time without assistance of any kind—when I went the second time I found that the midwife had broken the umbilical cord quite short up to the after-birth—I had left word that I should be sent for but the midwife had not sent for me—the result of that was that what I had to do would cause great pain—taking the matter altogether, she must have undergone a very great strain both mentally and physically; she suffered a great deal during the whole 40 hours—I saw her afterwards, but only for a few moments.
MR. AVORY. proposed to call Mr. Gilbert, the surgeon of the gaol at Holloway, where the prisoner had been awaiting her trial, but he did not intend to ask him any question. MR. JUSTICE HAWKINS. interposing was of opinion that such a course was not good practice; if this evidence tended to prove the insanity of the prisoner, it was the duty of the prisoner's Counsel to offer it, and not that of the Counsel for the prosecution; it was no doubt a humane and fair thing to do, but it imposed an arduous duty on the Judge, and almost placed him in the position of Counsel; those who sought affirmatively to prove insanity ought to call the evidence and leave the cross-examination to the Counsel for the prosecution, if thought it necessary to take that course. Mr. Gilbert was not examined, but. MR. GILL. on the prisoner's behalf, called.—
DR. HENRY CHARLES BASTIAN . I have twice examined the prisoner, on May 21st and 24th; I have also read the depositions and had a consultation with Mr. Potts, and have seen Mrs. Pether; I also spoke to the prisoner herself on the two occasions that I saw her as to the circumstances under which the child was killed; I asked her her reasons why it was she killed the child—I had a conversation with her concerning her history first of all—I found that she had been living with her sister that her sister had been very kind to her and to the child—I found that she was only going away to a situation at Epsom, a very short distance, and I asked her, if her sister was so kind to her, and she was only going so short a distance, why she had done what she had done to the child—her reply was "I could not help myself, it came over me to do it"—she subsequently said she was afraid her sister might not be kind to the child; she said she had never thought so before, but it came over her when she was alone in the house—I gathered that she had been fretting very much at the thought of parting from the child—she told me that she slept very badly almost ever since the birth of the child and towards the close of the month, often not till morning—I was told by the sister that after her confinement her manner changed, and she became dull
and silent, and would sit for hours without speaking, that she had been gay and cheerful in her manner before her confinement, Q. Did these different features in the case that have been brought to your attention by your own observation and by the facts you have learnt with regard to it, enable you to form an opinion as to the state in which she was on 29th April? A. They left me with a strong conviction; having regard to all the circumstances I could learn concerning the prisoner, I felt that the most probable interpretation was that she was suffering from an attack of melancholia at the time, and was of unsound mind when the act was committed—her sitting down quietly to have her tea after she had done the act was one of the circumstances I have taken into consideration, indeed the whole history, the great alteration in her demeanour, that her sleep was disturbed, and that she would sit in that moody way, her crying and melancholy—in the early stages of melancholia there are often these homicidal and suicidal tendencies.
Cross-examined. I saw her on the 24th for the last time—there is no trace of unsoundness of mind about her now; at present I think she is quite sane—she had not been seen by a medical man for three weeks before this act was committed, nor for 10 days after the act—until she was admitted to Holloway she had not been seen by a medical man—she was then seen by Mr. Gilbert—I think that would be a sufficient time for any trace of melancholia to have passed away—in some cases the mere shock incidental to the commission of a crime of this sort tends to bring about an alteration in the mental state—I have heard the account she gave about giving the child away to a gipsy and all those details—that is not at all inconsistent with my view as to this melancholia, because in connection with these acts insane persons will oftentimes tell all sorts of untruths and act apparently in the most cunning way.
By the COURT. A rational and true account would be rather an exception—sometimes they go and give themselves up at once—where there is an attempt to conceal there is sure to be lying—they either give themselves up once or tell a tissue of lies—there is nothing in that inconsistent with the fact of her being of unsound mind at the time; that seems to me the only rational interpretation to put upon it—the fact of her prolonged labour and all these things are just such as would lead up to such an act—such acts and circumstances are what would guide us in forming a judgment; such cases are extremely familiar—one often meets with cases of the kind in patients who would exhibit the same sort of levity or indifference—we often find they are the most dangerous where there is any homicidal or suicidal tendency—in cases of this sort they are the things that tend to prove it—in some cases, such as murder and robbery, you have a clear intelligible motive as to the condition of mind, but here the act was contrary to the whole disposition of the girl—it is evident she had been fretting, and her expression to me was that she was dotingly fond of the child—no physical examination would show anything, in the early stages there is nothing obvious—in such a case as this no post-mortem examination would exhibit traces of insanity in the brain itself.
GUILTY. of the act, being of unsound mind at the time of its commission.— Ordered to be detained until Her Majesty's pleasure be known.
MR. HORACE AVORY. Prosecuted. MR. PURCELL. defended Budd and Pearson.
BUDD.— GUILTY .— Ten Years' Penal Servitude. MARRIOTT. and PEARSON.— NOT GUILTY .
MR. HUTTON. Prosecuted.
FREDERICK CROWTHER . I am a clerk and live with my wife at 39, Santley Street, Brixton—on the morning of 20th April I got up about half-past five—I left the house about 5.5, leaving it in its usual condition—the prisoner was the only servant—when I passed her door it was about half open—I secured the house, so that nobody from the outside could get in without breaking in—I was called back to the house between 11 and 12 in the morning—there was some methylaled spirit in a can—I had last seen it about three months previously—it had not been used during that time—my premises were not insured.
FLORENCE CROWTHER . I am the prosecutor's wife—on 20th April my husband left at five in the morning as usual—I rose at seven—I noticed smoke coming from my door—on opening it I found that the house was full of smoke—I went downstairs and went into the front parlour—I there found paper and wood burning by the side of the fire-place—there had been no fire in the fire-place the previous day—the flooring was burnt through, it was red and smouldering—I then went into the back parlour—I there found a chair burning and some curtains and a table cover, which had been placed upon the chair—there had been a fire in that fire-place the previous day, but not kept up that night—the burning was very nearly in the centre of the room—I then went into the kitchen—the oilcloth there was burnt by the scullery door, not near the fire-place—a tea cloth and apron was laid upon it burnt—I then went upstairs into the prisoner's room; she seemed to be asleep—I shook her and told her to get up, that the house was on fire—she said "A man, a man, a man had got into her room and stolen 2l. and a purse from her, and a locket and chain"—she followed me downstairs—I took a jug of water down with me and I sent her into the kitchen to get some more water, and while she was drawing the water I put one fire out with the jug I brought down—then the firemen came—there were two bottles of methylated spirit on a shelf but empty—when I last saw them they had some in them—there were four 3d. pieces on the clock in the back room when I went to bed—next morning I missed them—I afterwards searched the prisoner's box and saw them there at the bottom—I only saw one distinctly, the other three she put into her mouth.
JOHN SHEPHERD . I am an engineer in charge of the Brixton Fire Station—on 20th April, at 7 o'clock, I was called to 39, Santley Street—I examined the house—I found that it had been set on fire in three
different places—there was some waste paper burnt, and about two feet of the flooring in the front room ground-floor; in the middle of the room the carpet was burnt and the hearthrug damaged by fire, and in the back room ground-floor the oilcloth and a door-mat were burnt—a large easy chair was burning; that had been removed into the back garden, where I saw it burnt.
THOMAS WALSH . (Police Inspector.) On 20th April, at 7 a.m., I was called to this house—I examined the place and spoke to the prisoner—she said "I went to bed at half-past 10 last evening; I left my bedroom door ajar; nothing happened till daylight this morning, I was then awoke by a man coming into my bedroom, he said 'Where is your money;' I said 'You are a coward, you are a coward, it is in the drawer;' he took hold of my legs and hands, and held me, and placed a bag over my mouth which contained something stupefying; I know it was ether or chloroform; I have been an under-nurse in an infirmary for about two years, and I know them well, it was some drug; I became unconscious and remember no more till I was awoke by my mistress; I told her what had happened; I found I had been robbed of 1l. 19s. 6d., a silver locket and chain, and a silver thimble"—I then left the house in charge of a constable and made inquiries—I then came back and told the prisoner she would be charged with setting fire to the house and stealing four three-penny pieces—she said "I did not steal them"—I suggested to her mistress that her box should be searched, and it was searched—she was then arrested, taken to the station, and charged—she said "I told you falsely when I said I did not steal the money; I stole the four three-penny-pieces, but I did not set the place on fire; I stole the money whilst my mistress went to get a jug of water to put the fire out"—I examined the premises, there were no marks of any breaking in.
JOHN BLYTHE . I am a salvage officer—I have had great experience in examining houses where fires have taken place—I went to this house on the same day and examined it—I saw a clock on the middle room mantelpiece, it was smoky, anything upon that clock must have been removed before the fire, otherwise the marks would have been visible.
The prisoner in her defence denied having set fire to the place, but admitted that she stole the money.
FLORENCE CROWTHER . (Re-examined.) The girl slept at the top of the house—she had been in her service a few days—I had a verbal character of a month with her, and was told she had a written character for three years—I had had no dispute with her—she was quiet in her manner.
NOT GUILTY . Upon the plea of guilty.— Two Months' Hard Labour.
MR. C. BAKER. Prosecuted. MR. CORRIE GRANT. Defended.
NOT GUILTY .
665. FRANCIS JOHN DAVIS. (27) , Feloniously cutting and wounding Margaret Cummings, with intent to murder her. Second Count. With intent to maim and disable her. Third Count. With intent to do her grievous bodily harm.
MR. DILL. Prosecuted.
the landlord of the Black Horse Inn, Dorking—I remember Saturday, 23rd April last—on that day I was sitting in the kitchen at a little after 6 o'clock having my tea, and heard a woman's voice screaming out "Don't, don't, you are killing me"—I heard her say "Don't, don't" twice—I then jumped up and saw the prisoner holding a woman with his right hand—I was on the kitchen steps and he was at the end of the passage, not where the blood was, but just against our private door leading into the bar, and his left hand was up to her neck, with a knife in his hand—I could not see the knife at the time, it was to her neck, but when his hand came down I saw it—it bad a very worn blade—I cannot identify the knife—I cried out "Whatever are you doing to the woman?" and he released her, and she went screaming along the passage towards the public bar—the prisoner's hand came down, and he said "I don't care if I have killed her; she can go where she likes now, and they may take me where they like"—I saw the young woman's hands; she was struggling to get away from him—I did not see her do anything with her hands after he let her go; I could not move—I found some blood in the passage—the prisoner stood there a second or two.
By the. COURT. The blood was in the passage on the floor, just out of the passage, it was on my kitchen steps—I had not seen the young woman come to the house—I had seen him twice before, once on the Thursday and once on the Friday, with the female—he was a total stranger before—he was perfectly calm and very white, but I cannot say whether he was sober or not.
JAMES PETER . I am a labourer, and live at Dorking—on Saturday, the 23rd August, I was at the Black Horse Inn the better part of the day, and was there at 6 p.m.—the prisoner came in in the afternoon, but he was there at 6 o'clock—I was with him and was holding him, because he said he was satisfied with what he had done—he was not in the bar at 6 o'clock, he was out in the passage, but he had come into the bar before that with a young woman, Margaret Cummings, who I knew by sight, but I do not know whether that is her right name—she came in with the prisoner, and while they were in the bar they had some words together, after which they sat down together and drank together, and after that he called the woman out at the door and said he wanted a word or two with her, and she went out and went down the passage, and two or three minutes afterwards I heard a scream come from the passage, and went and opened the door, went out, and went down the passage to her, and saw her coming towards the bar with blood pouring from a wound in her throat, on the left-hand side of her neck—the prisoner was standing by the tap-room door with a knife in his left hand, facing Water Street; I went to him and asked him what he had been doing of; he said that he was satisfied, and she could go where she liked now—he did not keep the knife in his hand while I talked to him, he sat down on the stairs and dropped it between his legs—I noticed that it was all over blood—he said nothing about the knife—I had never seen him before.
Cross-examined by the Prisoner. I cannot say that you were drunk, you might carry it away much better than other people; you had a tidy drop, I know, but you did not stagger—I cannot say whether you appeared to know what you were doing.
By the. COURT. I had had a tidy drop of beer, but I was not a little tipsy—I had had two pints, which I am in the habit of drinking every
day—I am not in the public-house all day long, I am out working, but I had nothing to do; I had got no work—I think the young man was very much urged.
MARGARET CUMMINGS . I live at Dorking, and am a hawker—for some time past I have been living with the prisoner—on 23rd April last, about 6 o'clock in the evening, I was at the Black Horse drinking with the prisoner—we were there nearly all day, up to 6 o'clock—he was not sober, he had been drinking all day, and I was not sober—we had some words together; we had a row. about something, and he went into the passage—he did not call me out, but I followed him, and we had some words in the passage.
By the. COURT. What occurred in the passage was, I said that I would leave him, and I aggravated him; I had been aggravating him all day—he is very fond of me, and I said that I would go away and leave him—I said that because I was in a bad temper; I knew that it would aggravate him—we had a quarrel in the public-house first—I cannot tell you what it was about, but I kept aggravating him—it began in this way: I made him go and sell some things, and then I made him fetch them back again, because the price did not suit me, and I kept tormenting him.
By. MR. DILL. The first commencement of it was on Friday—after the row. in the passage I went right out into the back after him, and asked him for some money—he asked me what I wanted it for, and I told him I was going away and was going to leave him—he asked me what for, and I did not give him any decided answer—when I said that I was going to leave him, he said "Do you really mean it, Maggie?"—I paid "Yes," but I did not mean it—the blood then came from me, but I did not feel any pain—I felt something sharp, but it did not hurt me much—I walked along the passage, and asked some one to do something to it—I sat down on a form, and waited till a doctor came—I went from the passage into the bar with my hand on my throat, and sat down on a form—it was sewn up there, and I was taken to the hospital afterwards.
Cross-examined. I recollect the Friday evening when you came home after being out all day—you gave me some money to go out and get some tea, and I stopped out and got drunk—on that Saturday morning you got some haddock to cook for breakfast, and I came in and emptied the haddock out of the pan into the fire, and I started breaking up the things which you brought home.
By the. COURT. I was drunk; I kept going out and getting drink, but it was the first thing in the morning when I broke them—I was not drunk then—they were things which he had bought, for the home for him and me to live together—I am 23 years old—he brought in some primroses, and I stamped on them, and said that if he did not take the rest out and sell them I would break the rest—they were flowers which were for sale.
By the Prisoner. You had two sacks in the yard—I did not take them away, nor did you say that if you got them back they would pay for a pot of beer—you have always worked hard and tried to get a home for me—you have always been very good to me, and I have always been the other way—you saved me from ruin; if it had not been for you worse would have become of me—when you first met me I had nowhere to go,
and you said to me "If you stick to me I will marry you, and get you a good home."
By the. COURT. It was I who broke his things in my drunkenness, and I broke some in the morning.
Re-examined. The prisoner sells rags and bones and flowers—he has been at work lately; he is always at work—he had not been drinking on Friday, but I had.
HENRY CALDECOTT . I am a surgeon, living at Dorking—on 22nd April I was sent for to the Black Horse, and saw Margaret Cummings there sitting on a form in the bar—she had a deep incised wound of the length of three inches on the left side of her throat, here. (Just under the left jaw.) There was not much haemorrhage—the wound had not cut the jugular artery or vein—I sewed the wound up there, and sent her to the hospital, which she left in about a week, quite well.
GEORGE LAMBERT . I am Superintendent of Police at Dorking—I was called to the Black Horse on 23rd April, and found the woman Cummings there with a wound on her throat—I produce a knife which the witness Peters gave me; it was wet with blood—I took the prisoner in custody—I charged him. and he said "I wish I had killed her."
The Prisoner's Statement before the Magistrate. "Only I am very sorry for it, it was drove on me all day long—we never had a word before that day."
Prisoner's Defence. (written.) I am very sorry indeed; I have no recollection of it whatever. It is all her fault. I have always tried to get on and she was the other way altogether, and when I came home I found her drunk. I have been here eight days all through her. (Handing in some letters from the prosecutrix addressed to him from the hospital, in which she stated that she had unreasonably provoked him when under the influence of drink, and stating that if it had not been for the drink it never would have happened.)
GUILTY. of unlawfully wounding; strongly recommended to mercy by the Jury on account of the great provocation he received.— Three Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Common Serjeant.
PLEADED GUILTY . and also to a conviction of feloniously having counterfeit coin in his possession.
MR. POLAND. Prosecuted.
JAMES BILDY . I am assistant to James Widdell, a butcher, and live at 34, Old Kent Road—on 6th May, between 9 and 10 o'clock, Jackson came in for two pork chops, price 4 1/2 d., and gave me a half-crown—I bent it and told him it was bad; he paid me with a good florin; I gave him change and returned the half-crown to him—he broke it with a weight, taking the pieces with him—it bent easily.
OLIVER BENSON . I live at 262, Old Kent Road, about 100 yards from Mr. Widdell—on 6th May, between 9 and 10 o'clock, Jane Lawrence (See next case.) came in for half a pound of butter and a quarter of a pound of cheese, price 6d.—she gave me a half-crown—I tried it and made a hole in it; I am sure it was bad—I gave it back to her; she paid me with a good florin—I gave her the change and she left.
came in for a glass of ale, price 1 1/2 d.—she gave me a half-crown; I bent it in her presence with my thumb, on the counter; I am sure it was bad—she then gave me a good one, and I gave her the change and returned her the bad one—about an hour after midnight a constable came and I went to the station and saw her in custody and identified her—I believe Samuel Edwards, a hawker, was there.
SAMUEL EDWARDS . I am a hawker, of 31, Tabard Street—on the night of 6th May, between 10 and 11 p.m., I was at the Brunswick public-house and saw Jane Lawrence try to pass a half-crown to Hoare—he gave it back to her—she paid with good money and went out—I followed her and spoke to Bennett—Lawrence went down by the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, where she joined the two prisoners—they walked behind her when she came out—I spoke to another constable, Crane—I saw the three go up the Kent Road together; the woman was ahead of me at first, but the prisoners passed me and went up to her—I am sure they were all together—Lawrence handed something to one of the men, but what man I could not tell—I followed them across the Kent Road, and saw Lawrence leave them and go into Mr. Webster's while the two prisoners waited outside the door—I went in to see what she did; she was served before I got in—I heard Mr. Webster speaking about a bad half-crown which she had tried to pass—Jobson, a constable, came in and I by his direction, ran out—the two men were outside—the constable said to me "I have got the woman, you lay hold of those men,"—they ran away before I could do so—I followed them—Jackson fell down—I called out to the crowd "Hold him, stop him," and said that I had been robbed, to make them hold him, but he ran up a court—I pursued him and he was taken in custody—I am sure he is the man who was with Jackson when the woman joined him.
Cross-examined by. Kelly. I had had a drop to drink.
THOMAS BENNETT . (Policeman P. 142). I was in the Old Kent Road—Edwards pointed out the two prisoners and the woman about 20 yards from Townsend Street—I followed them, stood at the corner, and watched them—they were talking together and the woman appeared to pass something to one of the men—they crossed over and went to the Old Kent Road—I followed them and spoke to Crane at the King's Arms—we watched them some distance and then lost sight of them—I shortly afterwards heard a whistle and cries of police; I went into John Street and found Jackson being held by somebody—Crane took charge of him—I was in uniform.
FRANK CRANE . (Policeman. 495 P.) Bennett pointed out the three prisoners to me at the corner of Bermondsey New Road—we instructed Edwards to follow them, as we were in uniform—I saw them a minute or two before they turned a corner—shortly afterwards I heard a cry of police and constable's whistle—I went to John Street, saw Jackson being held, and took him in custody—I took him to the station and searched him and found this bad half-crown in his right hand trousers pocket and four separate shillings and fourpence-halfpenny, also a packet of tea with the name of Foy on it, a pair of stockings, a packet of sugar, and eggs, some butter, and a door key—at the station a half-crown was taken from Jackson and tested and found to be bad—I went to Foy's and they gave me a bad half-crown.
spoke to me, and I saw three people together, but I cannot identify the men; they went down Bermondsey Road, where the woman left them, and went into the Compasses; I went in and saw a half-crown on the counter; I spoke to Mr. Webster, he took it up, and found it was bad—I took the woman outside, the two men were about 30 yards off—they ran down King Street—I was in uniform—Edwards ran after them—I took Lawrence to the station, she had a good florin in her purse.
MR. WEBSTER. I keep the Three Compasses, Bermondsey New Road—on 6th May, at nearly 12 p.m., Lawrence came in for some ale and gave me a bad half-crown—while I was talking to her, Jobson came in, she then gave me a good florin; Jobson took her into custody with the coin.
WILLIAM WATERS . (Policeman. 393 M.) On 6th May, a little before midnight, I heard a whistle in John Street and a shout of "Stop him"—that was about 150 yards from the Three Compasses—I saw Kelly running up King Street towards me on the other side; he ran through a court, I followed him; another constable stopped him; I took him; he said "You are not going to take me for knocking a man down, are you?"—I said "You have done something more than that, or you would not run away so fast"—on the way to the station he said "A man asked me for some tobacco, and because I did not give him any he struck me, and I knocked him down and ran away"—at the station he gave up 2s. and 3d.—I searched him, that was all he had got—he gave me his address 51, Sultan Street, Wyndham Road, Camberwell.
ALFRED REED . (Police Inspector.) I was in charge of the station when Kelly was brought there; he said "I don't know what I am brought here for"—Jobson charged Lawrence with uttering counterfeit coin; she said nothing—Jackson was then brought in in custody while the other two were there, and a half-crown was taken from him—he said in their presence "Perhaps you will say that that one is bad"—I tried it and said "Yes, it is"—he said "I should like to have a number of them, I know where I took it"—Lawrence said in the charge room "Why I have only been in one public-house to-night"—Jackson said "I want this half-crown tested."
MR. KELLY. I live at 51, Sultan Street, "Wyndham Road, Camberwell; the prisoner Kelly lived at my house; he did not come home on the night of May 6th; he had not lived there for a fortnight before; he had lived at his sister's—he is my brother—he has stopped at his sister's for a fortnight, she is Mrs. Howell.
WILLIAM WEBSTER . I am inspector of coins to H.M. Mint—this coin uttered by Lawrence is bad, and so is this one taken from the trousers and one got from Mr. Foy; they are all from the same mould—a coin broken by a weight is undoubtedly bad.
Kelly's Statement before the Magistrate. "I can prove where I was up to 9.30 on Saturday. I met my sister and went to Star Corner and had a pint of beer; I turned down King Street; I heard cries of 'Stop thief,' I knew how I stood on a ticket-of-leave, and thought a detective saw me, and I ran away; I know nothing about these people."
Witness for the Defence.
MARY HOWELL . I am married, and am the prisoner Kelly's sister; I live at 13, Hollington Street, Camberwell, and am a laundress—on this Friday I was coming down Camberwell Green, and met my brother; he said
"Halloa, just coining home from work?" I said yes, and asked him to have a drop of ale; we goes into the Castle, and had a pint of ale, and came outside, and I leaves him there; he said he was going for a stroll as far as the Elephant and Castle, and would not be long, and I went home; I saw nothing more of him till I heard he was in this bother.
Cross-examined. He had been sleeping at my house for a fortnight, that is about a mile from the Elephant and Castle—I left him in the Castle between 8 and 9 o'clock—the Old Kent Road is not far from the Elephant and Castle.
Kelly's Defence. I left my sister at 9.15, and went down Walworth Road; a man asked me if I was going to treat him, I said no. I heard cries of stop thief, and having only just come out of prison on ticket-of-leave, I ran away.
KELLY.— GUILTY .
He then. PLEADED GUILTY.* to a conviction at this Court of feloniously having in his possession a machine for counterfeiting coin.— Five Years' Penal Servitude. Sentence on. JACKSON.**— Five Years' Penal Servitude.
MR. POLAND offered no evidence, believing her to be the wife of the prisoner Jackson.
NOT GUILTY .
MR. DE MICHELE. Prosecuted.
HARRY LOVELAND . I live with my parents at Bisley, Surrey—on Saturday night, 7th May, about 10.30, I was walking towards home with Mrs. Gibbons on the road from Knapp Hill to Bisley, and coming past the Hen and Chickens I saw two soldiers, one of whom was the prisoner, about six yards from the door—they followed us along the road, and I took Mrs. Gibbons into the house of Mrs. Chandler, a friend of mine, in consequence of something I thought—the soldiers followed me up as far as the door, and when Mrs. Gibbons entered, the prisoner pulled me into the high way, caught hold of me by the throat, and said "Give me something to go away from you"—before I could answer him he hit me on the forehead with his fist and knocked me down—then while I was on the ground he knocked me about the head with his fist—I had half-a-crown in my left hand waistcoat pocket—I am sure it was there when the prisoner caught hold of me—it was gone when he went away—I missed it when I got up—I called out for help—Mrs. Gibbons had shut the door on me, leaving me outside with the prisoner—I had this necktie on; it was torn when he caught me by the throat—after I called for help the prisoner ran away towards the Hen and Chickens—I did not see the other man after we came by the Hen and Chickens—next morning I went to the camp at Pirbright and gave information to a sergeant—soldiers were brought out and Gosden identified the prisoner first and I did so afterwards as the man who had assaulted me—the sergeant said they were the two men that were out after 10—the two men said nothing to that—the assault
took place about half-past 10—it occurred at about two and a half miles I should think from the camp—I am sure the prisoner is the man who assaulted me.
HENRY GOSDEN . I live at Bisley and am a labourer—on Saturday, May 7th, about half-past 10, I was going home along the high road from the Hen and Chickens when I heard Loveland cry for assistance; it was about half-past 10—I ran down the road in the direction of the cries about 100 yards, and met the prisoner, who took hold of me, coming from the direction of Mrs. Chandler's house—next morning I went to Pirbright camp, where two men were brought out—the sergeant asked me if I could pick out the man that struck me with his belt, and I picked out the prisoner—I was with Loveland at the time—I identified him before Loveland did—we were introduced into the room in which the men were brought after we got there—the sergeant said they brought those two men in particularly because they had been out after 10 the night before—the prisoner said nothing to that—I am sure he is the man I saw outside the Hen and Chickens.
Cross-examined. I saw you in the Hen and Chickens and drank with you about eight o'clock—I was there about two hours, and as sober as I am now—you were in the public-house when I came out—I did not speak to you at all—I heard these cries about half an hour after I came out of the public-house—I stopped talking outside to some friends—another soldier was there—he went home when we came out at 10 o'clock; that was the soldier who was produced at camp next morning—he was drinking in the Hen and Chickens—you did not come out of the public-house before 10.
By the. COURT. The prisoner was very excited if not drunk—he went out by himself, he was not turned out.
By the. JURY. The prisoner was close enough to me to hit me.
Re-examined. I had the opportunity of seeing him all the evening, from half-past eight to 10 o'clock, and I am sure he is the same man.
EDWARD WEST . (Surrey Constabulary. 89). I am stationed at Knapp Hill—on Monday, 9th May, I went to the camp at Pirbright, where I received the prisoner in custody—he was then in military custody—I charged him and cautioned him—he said "I know nothing about it"—I said "Be very careful what you say "—I told him I should take it down and it might be used in evidence against him—I charged him with robbing Henry Loveland of half-a-crown and using violence—he said "I know nothing about it "—I had 1s. 9d. handed over to me with the prisoner from the military authorities.
SHERRARD GODMAN . I am a lieutenant in the Scots Guards, in which the prisoner is a private—the men have to come into camp at 10 o'clock at night—there is a record kept of men who come in later—I have not that here—I believe the prisoner and another were the only ones who came in after 10, I don't know.
Witness for the Defence.
Cross-examined. I got in about a quarter past 11—the prisoner got in
after me, I did not see him till next morning, he came in by himself—I was with him at the Hen and Chickens till a quarter-past 10, and I left him in front of the house at that time.
By the. COURT. I took no part in this assault; I know nothing about it whatever.
The prisoner in his defence said "I am not guilty of what is charged against me.".
GUILTY. of assault with intent to rob. —There was another indictment against the prisoner for assaulting Gosden with intent to rob.*— Twelve Months' Hard Labour.
Before Mr. Recorder.
MR. POLAND. Prosecuted.
HENRY SMITH . I am assistant to Charles Smith, a cheesemonger, of 3, Westminster Bridge Road—on 26th April, about 7.20 p. m., the prisoner came in and asked me for two penny eggs, he picked them up and I put them in a paper bag, and he gave me a florin; I was about to give him change when something occurred to me, and I put it in the tester and bent it, and found it was bad; he did not say anything—I sent for a constable and gave him in custody, with the florin.
ISAAC JACKSON . (Policeman L. 130). I was sent for to Mr. Smith's shop and saw the prisoner there; Mr. Smith said the prisoner had paid a bad two-shilling piece, and gave it me—I said to the prisoner "Where did you get this from?"—he said he had received it from where he worked, at a public-house, but he did not any where; he said he had been at work at a public-house in Camden Town—on the way to the station he said "I have only one, you cannot do anything to me for that"—he was charged at the station and there gave the name of John Porter, but said he had no address, that he slept in the East India Docks the night before—I searched him and found 5d. in bronze, he did not say where he got that from—he was detained and taken before the Magistrate.
The prisoner in his statement before the Magistrate and in his defence stated that he got the coin in change for a half-crown at the public-house at the corner of the Victoria Dock Road, and that is how he came by the two shillings and the coppers.
NOT GUILTY .
671. RICHARD TYLER . PLEADED GUILTY . to a burglary in the dwelling-house of Henry Alfred Barber, with intent to steal, and to a previous conviction of felony in Nov., 1878, at Kingston.— Four Months' Hard Labour.
672. REUBEN JAMES LEWIS. (16) and HARRY ALEXANDER LEWIS . (24) PLEADED GUILTY . to two indictments for burglary in the dwelling-houses of Francis Joseph Chance and William Hogsden, and stealing their goods.— Twelve Months' Hard Labour. And
ADJOURNED TO MONDAY. JUNE. 27TH. 887.